/  4 


%. 

V 


CLOVERLY 


BY 


MARY    R.    HiGHAM. 


ANSON    D.    F.    RANDOLPH    &    COMPANY. 

770   BROADWAY,    NEW    YORK. 


COPYRIGHT,    1875,    BY 

ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  Co. 


TO 
MY   DEAR    FRIEND    "GEORGTE," 

WITH    A    TENDER    MEMOBY    OP 

"LANG    SYNE," 

AND   A  REGRET   THAT  IN   THESE   LATER  TEARS   I  CAN 

OFFER   HER  NOTHING  BUT  THIS  SIMPLE 

LITTLE   CHRONICLE, 

WITH  THE 

OLD-TIME  LOVE. 


1694449 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.  CASTLE  BUILDING, 7 

II.  WE  VIEW  OUR  POSSESSIONS,      .        .  15 

III.  SETTLING  OURSELVES,      .  26 

IV.  THE  NEW  EDEN,         ....  38 
V.  NEW  FRIENDS, 47 

VI.  THE  JESUIT  BROTHER,        ...  55 

VII.  MAKING  AN  IMPRBSSIOI?,         ...  71 

VIII.  THE  GARDEN  PARTY,       ....  87 

IX.  LONGINGS, 106 

X.  FLO'S  FAIRY  TALE,     .        .        .        .  118 

XI.  THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER,      .  128 

XII.  TANGLED  THREADS,     ....  147 

XIII.  THE  CLOUDING  OP  THE  SKY,  .        .        .  162 

XIV.  OUT  OF  TUNE, 178 

XV.  GOING  AWAY,  ......  194 

XVI.  GOOD-BYE, 202 

XVII.  INTO  THE  VALLEY  OP  THE  SHADOW,     .  211 

XVIII.  THE  DARKNESS  OF  THE  NIGHT,         .  223 

XIX.  THE  PROMISE  OF  THE  DAWN,        .        .  228 

XX.  A  CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS,   .       .        .  235 

XXI.  NOT  THE  END,  BUT  THE  BEGINNING,  .  250 


CLOVEKLY. 


CHAPTEE  L 

CASTLE  BUILDINa. 

I  am  to  be  the  family  historian.  Mother  says  so,  and 
certainly  mother  knows  best.  As  for  the  matter  in  hand, 
nous  verrons — for,  now  that  I  am  left  to  myself,  I  begin 
to  doubt  my  own  powers,  as  with  pen  in  hand  and  a  fair 
ream  of  paper  piled  before  me  on  the  table,  I  poise  my 
weapon  said  to  be  mightier  than  the  sword,  over  it  and 
hesitate  how  to  begin.  I  suppose  one  must  settle  upon 
the  plan  of  a  story  before  one  writes  it,  just  as  Miss 
Prissy,  when  she  cuts  out  my  polonaise,  says  with  a 
flourish  of  her  scissors,  '  Looped  or  plain  in  the  back, 
Miss  ?  Open  in  front  or  buttoned  ? '  Yes,  I  must  have 
a  plot  and  a  plan,  just  as  she  has  when  she  lays  down  her 
papers.  Let  me  see,  what  will  it  be  ?  The  worst  of  it  is 
nothing  ever  happens — everything  goes  along  in  a  cer- 
tain groove — life  in  the  country  repeats  itself  every  day 
in  the  year.  Father  says  it  is  a  poem,  but  dearie  me  I 
the  family  chronicle  is  to  be  done  up  in  prose,  and  very 
dull,  cold  prose,  I  fear,  too  ;  but  if  there  is  poetry  in  it, 
why  can't  I  find  it  out  ? 

Let  me  see  :  first  of  all,  the  name  of  my  story — Clover- 
ly,  or  Cleverly  Chronicles?  No,  I  think  just  Cleverly; 
because  if  I  say  Chronicles,  I  must  feel  that  I  have  chron- 
icled something  ;  and  there  is  so  very,  very  little  to  say. 


8  CLOVEuLY. 

But  Cloverly  is  another  matter.  "VTLy,  I  cm  just  run 
riot  all  over  the  farm  ;  and  -when  I  come  to  think,  there  is 
poetry  in  it.  Why,  the  month  of  June  is  a  very  poem  iu 
itself,  and  down  here  in  dear  old  Jersey,  which  I  ones 
thought  ever  and  ever  so  far  out  of  the  Union,  but  now — 
•well,  I  have  changed  my  mind,  th;it  is  all ;  used  my  wo- 
manly privilege,  and  above  all  things  like  to  see  the  N.  J. 
under  my  grand  blue  and  gold  monogram.  All  my  note 
and  letter  paper  is  stamped  thus, — we  girls  think  it  quite 
stunning.  In  its  way  I've  no  doubt  it  is,  only  everybody 
has  initialled  and  monogrammed  paper  now-a-days,  and 
those  who  have  it,  a  crest, — sometimes  those  who  don't 
own  it.  We  haven't  a  crest ;  I  wanted  one  when  I  came 
home  from  boarding  school,  but  father  laughed  and  said 
'No  !'  if  he  had  one  it  would  have  to  be  a  shovel  arid 
spade,  for  everybody  that  ever  belonged  to  him  had  been 
a  farmer — bah  !  I  wouldn't  marry  a  farmer  !  I've  never 
eaid  anything  about  the  crest  since. 

But  where  to  begin  my  chronicle.  I  must  really  think 
about  that  now.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  go  back 
to  the  night  when  father  came  home  and  broached  the. 
subject  of  this  very  Cloverly.  Weary  and  anxious,  I 
know,  for  those  were  the  days  when  he  tried  to  be  a  city 
man,  and  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  get  along  with  it. 
Those  too  were  the  days  when  his  face  showed  real  anxi- 
ety. We  were  at  dinner,  for  like  other  city  people  we 
dined  at  six,  and  although  the  meal  was  a  slender  one, 
it  was  dinner  for  all  that.  I  remember  jast  how  we  look- 
ed, for  if  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  in  our  midst  and  de- 
molished us  at  one  fell  stroke,  we  could  not  have  been 
more  astonished.  Father  was  curving  carefully  the  ono 
big  chicken  which  Bess  (the  baby  sister)  was  wistfully 
regarding  in  the  light  of  a  turkey,  waiting  with  ill  dis- 


CASTLE   BUILDING.  9 

guised  impatience  to  see  how  much  would  fall  to  her 
share.  As  he  sliced  the  white  meat  he  looked  up  at  mo- 
ther and  said,  '  Nelly,  don't  you  want  to  go  in  the  coun- 
try to  live  ? ' 

'Anywhere  you  please,  Jem.' 

And  then  the  Jem  thus  addressed  carved  a  little  long- 
er, helped  the  six  children,  who  were  swallowing  every 
word  as  eagerly  as  they  did  the  chicken,  before  he  sa-J 

'Are  you  sure,  Nelly,  you  wouldn't  feel  badly  to  leave 
the,  city  ? ' 

'I  don't  care  where  I  go,  Jem,'  said  mother,  again; 
'  anywhere  in  the  world  with  you,  if  it  is  to  the  North 
Pole,  so  that  the  lines  fade  out  of  your  face,  and  you 
look  like  yourself  again. ' 

Father  gave  her  a  quick,  grateful  look,  this  time.  (He 
was  always  making  love  to  mother,  in  a  furtive  kind  of 
way,  as  if  it  wasn't  quite  the  thing  for  staid  people  who 
bad  been  married  five  and  twenty  years;  but  we  children 
thought  it  was  just  beautiful,  though  we  never  dared  say 
a  word  about  it.)  '  What  do  the  children  say,  then  ? '  he 
asked. 

We  all  spoke  at  once.  That  is  a  family  failing, — not 
belonging  to  ours  alone,  either.  Everybody  does  it. 
What  a  hubbub  there  must  have  been  in  the  Ark,  when 
Noah  debated  the  question  of  walking  out  on  dry  laud  ! 
Nat  thinks  he  ought  to  be  heard  first,  because  he  is  the 
oldest  boy  ;  and  Meg  thinks  it  would  be  more  polite  if  the 
young  lady  of  the  family  were  allowed  to  have  her  say ; 
and  baby  Bess,  because  she  is  the  youngest,  thinks  she 
ought  to  sit  on  a  throne,  and  a  coronation  robe  and 
r.ceptre  would  be  none  too  good  for  her,  with  the  whole 
family  bowing  around — and  they  generally  do  ;  but  oh  I 
these  middle  children  !  the  three  that  come  in  between 


10  CLOVERLY. 

Nat  and  Meg  and  Bess  !  We  always  say  among  ourselves, 
•who  would  be  a  middle  child  ? — for  all  tlie  good  tilings  oi 
this  life  are  absorbed  by  the  oldest  and  youngest.  Nat 
•was  the  only  baby  in  our  family  that  ever  attained  to  the 
honor  of  gold  armlets,  and  cut  his  first  tooth  upon  pink 
coral  with  silver  bells.  And  then  Meg  with  her  blue 
eyes  and  dainty  smiles  !  why,  Meg,  the  first  daughter — 
that  was  another  unheard  of  child !  The  marvellous 
things  that  Meg  said  and  did,  are  told  to  this  day — told 
gravely,  and  what  is  more,  they  are  believed.  Then  canie 
Flo  and  Bob  ;  and  then,  when  children  were  no  longer  a 
rarity  or  a  marvel,  I  had  to  make  my  appearance  in  this 
unfeeling  world,  a  mere  common-place  child,  without 
beauty,  without  eclat,  and,  alas  !  without  coral  and  bells 
or  bracelets. 

Nevertheless  I  survived ;  under  the  unfortunate  cir- 
cumstances it  seems  a  little  strange,  and  just  when  I  had 
begun  to  feel  that  I  was  to  be  the  pet  and  baby  of  the 
household  band,  Bess  made  her  entree,  and  from  that 
day  forward  I  ceased  to  be  anything  remarkable,  falling 
back  at  once  into  the  common  place,  middle  position, 
which  Flo  and  Bob  had  submitted  to  with  the  utmost 
good  nature. 

Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  to  insert  here,  that  I  never 
submit  to  anything  with  good  nature.  I  make  it  a  point 
to  bristle  with  opinions — as  many,  both  offensive  and  de- 
fensive, as  quills  upon  a  porcupine.  I  want  to  know  the 
reasons, — the  whys  and  wherefores, — and  then  I  dearly 
love  to  give  my  opinion, — give  it,  I  say,  because  it  is 
never  asked.  But  this  one  night  of  which  I  write,  in- 
stead of  hearing  us  collectively,  father  waited  until  the 
little  uproar  had  subsided,  and  then  asked  us  individual- 
ly what  we  thought  of  going  into  the  country.  Nat  lit- 


CASTLE   BUILDING.  11 

ed  it,  and  Meg  liked  it,  and  the  other  children  liked  it, 
chiming  in  with  ready  acquiescence,  only  longing  for  a 
change  of  some  sort ;  but  I  didn't  care  to  submit  so 
coolly. 

'  Leave  the  city  ! '  I  echoed  with  a  dreary  sigh  when 
it  came  my  turn  to  speak.  '  Why,  father,  you  know  I 
won't  like  it !  I'm  afraid  of  cows,  and  I'm  afraid  of 
snakes  ;  it's  lonely,  of  course — no  pavements  to  walk  on, 
no  stop  windows  to  peer  into  ;  for  if  one  can't  buy,  the 
nsxt  best  thing  is  to  look.  And  then  the  pictures  !  how 
can  I  leave  my  painting  just  when  I'm  getting  along  so 
well, — the  only  pleasant  thing  in  my  whole  life,  (at  this 
there  was  jusfc  the  faintest  ripple  of  a  family  smile,)  just 
to  go  to  a  stupid,  old  country,  where  there  is  nothing  to 
see  or  hear, — no  society,  no  walks  ;  and  we  won't  have  a 
carriage  for  drives, — nothing  but  an  awful  old  farm, 
cows  and  snakes,  and  everything  dreadful ! ' 

Of  course  there  was  a  shout,  the  family  ripple  general- 
ly breaking  out  into  a  smile  that  could  be  heard.  Father 
said  gravely  '  he  hoped  to  raise  something  better  than  a 
crop  of  boa  constrictors';  mother  laughed  pleasantly, 
and  finished  the  thing  up  with  '  We'll  call  it  all  settled, 
Jem  ;  buy  your  farm,  and  we'll  go  as  soon  as  you  please.' 

'  Why,  Nelly,'  and  father  leaned  back  in  his  chair  com- 
fortably, '  you  .see  we  can  have  the  farm  to-morrow,  if  we 
choose  to  go  there.  It  is  Uncle  Janeway's  place.  He 
has  been  renting  it  to  some  city  people  for  a  year  or 
more,— they've  bought  somewhere  near,  and  now  the 
farm  is  on  his  hands  again.  It  will  come  very  cheap  to 
us  :  we  can  pay  by  instalments,  just  about  as  we're  pay- 
ing for  our  rent  here.  We  can  go  any  minute  we  like.' 

'Let's  start  to-morrow,'  said  Meg,  waving  her  napkin 
for  a  banner.  '  Where's  the  place  ?' 


12  CLOVERLT. 

5  Down  in  New  Jersey;  right  by  the  sea.' 

There  was  a  family  shout  again.  This  time  it  was  a 
dispiriting  cry,  and  mother  said,  with  a  little  shiver,  cov- 
ering tip  her  ears,  ' Don't  whoop  like  Modocs,  children.' 
Aud  we  all  replied  with  a  well  modulated  groan  '  But  New 
Jersey  !  who  wants  to  go  there  ?'  Nat  grumbled  '  Oat  of 
the  world, — way  down  to  the  jumping-off  place  ';  and  Meg 
inquired  facetiously  'if  we  were  going  to  search  for  Sir 
John  Franklin's  remains. ' 

'  We're  going  to  search  for  a  nice  little  home,'  said 
mother  ;  '  and  we  are  going  to  see  father  rid  of  the  cares 
that  have  been  killing  him  of  late.  It's  all  settled,  Jem  ; 
we'll  go,  and  be  very  happy  too.' 

That  is  the  way  mother  does  everything.  It  doesn't 
take  her  over  five  minutes  to  make  up  her  mind  about 
anything,  and  then,  though  she  is  so  small  and  has  such 
soft  blue  eyes  and  gentle  ways,  she  goes  to  work  with 
the  will  and  energy  of  an  Amazon.  There  never  was 
such  a  contradiction  of  a  woman,  and  she  manages  fa- 
ther like  a  book  !  He  likes  it,  too — that  is  the  queer  part 
of  it — married  people  are  so  strange  !  and  then  we  chil- 
dren like  it  of  course — why  not  ?  To  my  little  chronicle, 
I  may  say  it,  was  there  ever,  ever  such  a  mother  ! 

Of  course  we  knew  it  was  all  settled  when  she  smiled 
upon  father  that  night  at  the  dinner  table,  and  said 
'Anywhere,  Jem,  in  the  world  with  you.'  I  suppose  it  is 
the  better  way  ;  but  if  I  were  poor,  and  had  six  dread- 
ful children  all  talking  at  once,  and  each  one  thinking 
his  or  her  opinion  worth  double  its  weight  in  solid  gold, 
I  am  morally  certain  I  should  enact  the  part  of  the  old 
woman  in  her  shoe.  What  a  mercy  that  I  am  father's 
daughter  instead  of  his  wife  !  I  made  that  very  same  re- 


CASTLE   BUILDIKS.  13 

mark  to  Meg,  that  night,  when  we  went  up  stairs  to  bed, 
just  as  I  was  standing  with  my  hand  upon  the  gas,  ready 
to  turn  it  off. 

'Stop  a  minute,  Bab,'  she  answered  ;  '  don't  put  out 
the  light  yet.  I  want  to  look  at  you  a  minute.' 

Meg  always  said  'Put  out  the  light,'  just  as  if  it  were 
a  candle,  instead  of  gas.  Meg  had  been  born  and  brought 
up  in  the  country,  and  she  never  could  get  used  to  city 
things,  she  said. 

'  Why,  what's  the  matter  with,  me  ? '  I  asked,  linger- 
ing as  she  had  bidden  me.  '  Don't  I  look  all  right  ? ' 

'All  right,  of  course,  old  Bab,  only  you're  in  your 
tragedy  queen  robes  to-night, — your  nose  goes  right  up, 
just  as  if  you  were  ready  to  sniff  disapproval  at  the  whole 
world  ;  your  eyes  are  as  bright  as  stars,  and  your  cheeks 
are  crimson, — it's  my  belief,  Bab,  you'll  write  a  book 
one  of  these  days.' 

'  I  mean  to  paint  a  picture,'  I  answered.  '  If  that's  all 
you  want  to  say,  you  can  say  it  in  the  dark,'  and  I  turn- 
ed off  the  gas  ;  'it  don't  pay  to  stand  up  here  with  cold 
feet,  only  to  be  told  that  I  look  like  a  tragedy  queen  or  a 
literary  woman.  I  detest  the  whole  lot ! ' 

Now  Meg  and  I  never  agreed,  but  we  never  quarrelled. 
She  was  steady,  and  I  was  flighty,  and  our  perfect  incom- 
patibility of  taste  and  temper  formed  the  strongest  bond 
of  sympathy  between  us.  As  I  cuddled  up  in  her  arms, 
after  this  not  very  tender  speech  of  mine,  I  asked  '  What 
makes  you  think  I'll  write  a  book,  Meggie  ?  You  know 
I  don't  know  enough  to  do  it.' 

'  O  !  it  would  be  fun  to  read  it,  if  you  only  could  write 
it  in  one  of  your  blazing  moods,  just  as  you  are  to-night, 
about  going  into  the  counlry.  Call  it  "Six  Acrea 
Enough.'" 


14 


CLOVERLY. 


'  Or  sixty  acres  too  inucli,'  I  laughed.  'Good  night,  old 
castle-builder.  I've  snuffed  out  your  candle.  Shut  up 
your  eyes  and  go  to  sleep. ' 

In  two  -weeks  more  we  did  snuff  our  candles  out  down 
on  the  Janeway  farm,  and  Meg  liked  it  ever  so  nmch 
better  than  gas. 


CHAPTER  H. 

WE   VIEW    OUR   POSSESSIONS. 

"Xes,  without  a  doubt,  Meg  liked  the  Janeway  Farm, — 
but  then  Meg  would  have  liked  E/arntchatka  or  Hindoo- 
stan,  the  North  Pole  or  the  Torrid  Zone.  The  slight 
difference  of  heat  and  cold  was  of  no  consequence,  it  be- 
ing Summer  and  sunshine  in  her  calendar  all  the  year 
round.  If  there  were  any  pleasant  little  halting  spots, 
or  resting  places,  in  this  world,  Meg  was  the  one  to  find 
it, — not  find  it  just  to  enjoy  selfishly,  but  she  would  call 
all  the  family  in,  and  as  many  outsiders  as  she  could,  to 
share  it  with  her.  Such  people  manage  to  gather  up  all 
that  there  is  of  existence,  and  never  waste  a  crumb  or  an 
atom  of  it.  It  is  a  good  way.  There  are  so  many  sor- 
rows that  must  come,  that  it  is  just  as  well  to  make  the 
most  of  every  little  joy.  Mother  says  there  is  so  much 
that  could  be  turned  into  joys,  if  we  only  had  a  mind ; 
things  that  nobody  thinks  of,  or  lakes  any  notice  of,  until 
they  are  all  gone,  and  then  they  go  back  and  say  '  those 
good  old  times,' — but  when  the  times  were  young,  they 
didn't  think  much  about  it.  They  were  always  looking 
forward,  to  something  better,  I  suppose. 

I  remember  when  we  were  little  bits  of  children,  how 
we  cried  if  it  rained  and  spoiled  an  anticipated  pleasure, 
and  I  remember,  too,  how  gallantly  Meg  always  came  to 
the  rescue  with  her  refreshing  facts,  '  It  can't  rain  forever, 
girls,  that's  one  good  thing.  Don't  waste  your  time  cry- 
ing. There's  a  piece  of  blue  sky  already,'  and  off  we'd  go 
to  hunt  it  up.  That's  the  charm  of  such  natures.  They 
take  just  whatever  is  laid  upon  them,  and  they  are  al- 
ways on  the  lookout  for  a  bit  of  blue  sky,  aye,  and  they 
find  it  generally.  Meg  always  found  hers.  She  found 


16  CLOVERLY. 

it  that  first  day  of  our  leaving  home,  when  all  was  dreary 
and  desolate  as  it  could  be.  I  could  think  of  nothing  but 
a  party  of  melancholy  ghosts  as  we  stalked  through  the 
dismantled  house  for  the  last  time,  putting  finishing 
strokes  to  the  packing  cases  and  trunks,  and  picking  up 
stray  things  here  and  there  ;  but  Meg  acted  as  if  it  were 
a  picnic.  She  and  Bob  kept  up  the  spirits  of  the  fami- 
ly. But  to  me  it  seemed  strange  and  sad  to  look  out  upon 
the  busy  streets,  and  think  that  we  would  not  be  missed 
at  all,  that  people  would  hurry  by  and  never  notice  the 
closed  shutters,  or  miss  the  young  faces  that  used  to 
cluster  at  the  windows, — perhaps  the  house  would  be  let, 
and  there  would' be  as  much  of  life-and  busy  planning  as 
when  we  were  there,  and  no  blank  felt  by  any  one,  ex- 
cept indeed  my  old  artist  friend,  who  gave  me  lessons, 
almost  con  amore, — for  his  pay  was  a  mere  pretence. 
There  was  real  sorrow  in  his  bleared  old  eyes  when  he 
bade  me  good-bye,  telling  me  I  would  be  '  one  great  ar- 
tist '  when  he  saw  me  again,  and  in  my  eyes  there  was  no 
doubt  about  the  tears.  How  could  I  ever  fulfil  nay  des- 
tiny, if  I  took  my  one  only  talent  and  buried  it  in  the 
wilderness  ?  And  this  good-bye,  how  I  did  hate  to  say 
it  ?  Good-bye — a  little  word,  and  so  quickly  spoken, 
but  the  depth  and  the  meaning  of  it,  one  never  quite  un- 
derstands until  it  is  all  over  with.  It  is  a  hard  word  to 
say  to  friends, — it  gave  me  a  heart  ache  to  say  it  to  the 
old  house.  I  wonder  if  any  one  will  have  any  sympathy 
with  me  ?  A  dull,  uninteresting  pile  of  brick  in  a  dingy, 
narrow  street,  certainly  unfashionable,  cheerless,  and 
hopelessly  plain, — but  it  was  home. 

But  the  agonies,  whatever  they  were,  were  soon  over, 
and  in  one  short  week  I  had  said  good-bye  to  everything 
and  everybody  as  completely  as  if  I  were  about  to  enter  a 


WE   VIEW   OUR   POSSESSIONS.  It 

cloister  for  life.  It  was  May,  and  May  is  not  a  favorable 
time  to  view  a  country  farm  for  the  first  time.  It  is  a 
month  only  fit  to  write  about  and  read  of  in  poetry  books. 
It  is  not  intended  for  enjoyment,  but  sentiment,  and  is 
as  freaky  and  coquettish  as  a  woman.  Nevertheless  we 
accomplished  our  flitting  on  the  first  day  of  May,  with 
only  Bob  for  escort,  as  father  and  Nat  had  gone  down  to 
the  place  fully  a  month  before.  It  was  a  great  event  in 
our  lives,  this  turning  our  backs  on  the  city  forever, 
although  it  was  only  a  distance  of  thirty  odd  miles.  Wo 
girls  wore-  travelling  dresses  of  soft  gray  serge,  with 
round  hats  and  drab  veils — a  good,  serviceable  color  for 
the  coantry;  and  it  was  to  be  my  church  dress,  I  very 
well  knew,  at  least  until  the  Summer  came,  when  I  could 
don  my  light  muslins. 

We  all  carried  something  in  our  hands,  to  be  '  useful  as 
well  as  ornamental,'  Meg  laughingly  observed.  I  took 
my  sketch-book  and  color-box,  in  a  frantic  endeavor  to 
make  it  look  as  artistic  an  expedition  as  possible  ;  but 
Bess  nipped  my  little  aspirations  in  the  bud,  by  carrying 
Miss  Sniffins,  our  old  tortoise-shell  cat,  in  a  basket  large 
enough  to  make  it  a  debatable  point  whether  she  were 
bearing  the  family  luncheon,  or  the  family  linen.  If 
there  were  any  doubts  on  the  subject,  Miss  Sniffins  set- 
tled it  by  a  series  of  pitiful  howls,  and  a  violent  scratch- 
ing every  time  the  car  jolted  or  the  boat  lurched  ;  for  we 
travelled  by  boat  first,  and  rail  afterward,  and  Bess  and 
her  '  spry  basket,'  as  Bob  called  it,  proved  an  in- 
sufferable nuisance.  In  spite  of  this,  and  one  or  two 
minor  afflictions,  the  trip  was  a  pleasant  one,  and  there 
was  still  a  little  sunshine,  although  the  day  was  nearly 
ended  when  the  cars  stopped  at  a  small  station,  and  the 
brakeman  shouted  out  the  name  of  our  future  home.  We 


18  CLOVEELY. 

all  smiled,  and  rushed  out  of  the  car  delightedly,  and 
while  Bob  bustled  away  with  our  checks,  we  stood  on  the 
platform  and  took  a  good  view  around. 

'  Do  look !  What  are  we  coming  to  ?  Here's  our 
blessed  old  Nat  with  a  thing  that  looks  like  Noah's  Ark 
and  a  great  bay  horse.  Is  that  our  perambulator,  Nat  ?  ' 
I  ciied  as  he  jumped  down  from  the  ancient  vehicle  and 
held  both  arms  open  to  toss  mother  in,  and  give  her  a 
kiss  at  the  same  time. 

And  then,  how  we  talked  !  First  one,  then  the  other, 
sometimes  all  at  once,  huddled  together  on  the  old- 
fashioned  seats,  satchels,  shawls,  and  bags  tucked  in, 
and  Bessie's  basket  hoisted  up  on  our  laps,  and  yet  I  be- 
lieve there  was  room  for  more  in  that  dreadful  old  thing 
— for  I  wouldn't  call  it  a  carriage.  I  am  sure  it  would 
have  answered  very  well  in  Utah,  for  one  of  the  Latter- 
day  Saints  to  take  an  airing  with  his  family,  but  for  us  it 
was  simply  dreadful.  Nat  was  in  great  spirits  about  it, 
however.  'Wasn't  it  good  of  dear  old  Uncle  Janeway,' 
he  said,  '  to  leave  us  this  comfortable  carriage  ?  We  can 
all  go  riding  around  the  country  together.  I  am  sure  by 
a  little  crowding  we  can  all  get  in.' 

Meg  shouted,  but  I  answered  very  tartly,  'You  can 
count  me  out,  Nat.  It  isn't  at  all  likely  that  I  shall  ever 
take  another  ride  in  the  vile  thing.  I'm  sure  Uncle 
Janeway  left  it  as  a  satire.  He  wanted  to  make  us  look 
like  a  caravan.' 

Nat  looked  amazed,  and  mother  said  gently  it  was 
very  nice,  and  she  was  sure  she  would  enjoy  it;  and  then 
we  talked  of  our  exodus,  our  trip  down,  and  our  impres- 
sions as  we  went  along,  Nat  trying  to  put  the  history  of 
the  past  month  in  five  minutes,  for  it  did  not  seem  more 
than  a  five  minutes  ride  from  the  depot  to  the  farm  lane, 


WE  VIEW   OUR   POSSESSIONS.  19 

down  which  fhe  old  shay  rattled  at  a  break-neck  speed; 
and  there  was  father  standing  on  the  porch  with  both 
arms  wide  open,  and  the  new  maid  of  all  work  peeping 
at  us  from  behind  a  shutter.  I  don't  remember  ever  see- 
ing father  with  such  a  smiling  face;  and  the  look  of  care, 
that  I  had  seen  so  long  that  I  did  not  realize  it  was  care, 
was  all  gone.  He  looked  more  than  happy  ;  he  looked 
younger  by  ten  years  than  when  I  saw  him  last,  and  I 
knew  mother  thought  so  too,  for  I  heard  her  say,  as  she 
put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 

'  It's  old  times  back  again,  Jem.  I'm  more  than  satis- 
fied.' 

It  gave  me  a  light  heart  to  hear  her  say  that,  though  I 
was  still  steadfastly  bent  upon  being  a  martyr,  if  I  could 
possibly  accomplish  it. 

'Let's  go  all  over  the  house,  and  see  everything  that 
is  to  be  seen,  before  dark,'  proposed  Meg. 

'  Yes,  and  choose  our  rooms,'  said  Flo.  'I  suppose  yon 
and  Barbara  will  sleep  together,  just  as  you  used  in  the 
city?' 

It  was  odd  that  Meg  took  me,  and  not  Flo,  for  Flo  was 
nearly  five  years  older  than  I,  but  so  it  was.  She  said 
taat  I  needed  Meg  tc  keep  me  straight.  Perhaps  that 
was  it,  and  then  Bess  needed  Flo, — at  any  rate  we  were 
all  content,  and  rushed  up  stairs  to  examine  the  rooms  ; 
father  calling  out  that  the  two  over  the  dining-room  were 
the  ones  he  and  Nat  had  selected  for  us,  and  into  which 
some  of  our  furniture  had  been  placed. 

They  were  cosy  rooms,  one  opening  into  the  other,  and 
two  windows  in  each,  facing  the  orchard  and  the  meadows 
beyond,  though  it  was  so  dark  we  could  see  very  little. 
But  the  windows  were  all  open,  and  the  air  drifted  in, 
Bof  t  and  moist,  with  the  warmth  of  Spring,  like  a  tender 


20  CLOVERLY. 

promise  of  tho  sweetness  and  beauty  yet  to  be,  when  the 
Summer  was  fulfilled.  I  just  stood  still  and  clapped  my 
Lands  like  a  child,  while  Flo  said  in  her  serene,  calm  > 

'  It  is  so  peaceful  and  still,  I  feel  as  if  life  wtre  going 
to  be  all  made  up  of  beautiful,  long  Sundays.  We  shall 
be  so  happy,  I  know,  here. ' 

'And  when  the  furniture  is  in  the  rooms,  how  large 
ind  comfortable  they  will  be,'  said  practical  Meg.  'And 
these  big  closets — we  shall  loso  our  wardrobes  in  them, 
I'm  afraid.  Isn't  ifc  splendid,  Bab  ?  ' 

'  Yea,'  I  said  guardedly,  not  willing  to  show  too  much 
enthusiasm  at  first,  '  but  no  hot  and  cold  water,  and  no 
bath.' 

'  O  !  an  immense  one — the  whole  sea — only  think  of 
that ! '  and  Meg  laughed  comfortably  again.  '  I  am  glad 
the  carpets  are  down  and  bedsteads  up;  to-morrow  we  can 
do  the  beautifying — but  now  let's  go  on  all  over,  and  use 
up  every  scrap  of  daylight  in  seeing.' 

'  Up  stairs  and  down  stairs,  and  in  my  lady's  chamber,' 
we  trooped,  laughing,  inspecting,  and  making  our  plans 
as  we  went  along. 

I  wonder  if  any  one  would  think  me  stupid  or  tiresome 
if  I  described  the  house  ?  I  hope  not,  for  it  is  so  pleas- 
ant to  record  just  how  it  all  looked  to  our  inexperienced, 
city  eyes.  It  would  be  like  taking  a  beautiful  picture 
out  and  leaving  only  the  frame,  to  write  a  chronicle  of 
our  doings  at  Cloverly,  and  not  tell  about  Cloverly  itself. 
And  yet  it  was  just  an  old-fashioned,  low-ceiled,  farm- 
house, with  a  broad  porch,  and  a  wing  on  each  side,  like 
two  arms  spread  out  in  welcome.  At  least  it  always 
seemed  so  to  me,  for  1  never  looked  at  the  dear  old  place 
but  it  brought  father  before  me  with  his  arms  stretched 
out  to  us  that  first  night  of  our  coming  home,,  and  the 


WE   VIEW   OUB   POSSESSIONS.  21 

picture  remaiaed  so  printed  on  rny  memory,  tliat  eyer 
after  the  two  comfortable  wings  seemed  like  an  embrace. 
There  was  a  broad  hall  in  the  centre,  -with  two  square 
rooms  on  each  side,  a  dining-room  and  a  kitchen  running 
back,  and  something  built  on,  off  the  dining-room,  like  a 
box,  or  an  afterthought,  and  which,  years  ago,  might 
have  served  rheumatic  Uncle  Janeway  for  a  bed-room, 
but  which  the  city  people  had  changed  into  a  library. 
There  were  the  shelves  all  around  the  three  sides  of  the 
room,  a  prim,  wooden  mantel,  with  an  open  grate,  and 
one  broad  window  looking  out,  so  father  said,  over  the 
lawn  and  up  the  lane  :  when  company  was  coming  we 
could  see  them  a  long  way  off  if  we  were  by  this  window; 
and  Bess  climbed  upon  the  broad  recessed  seat,  and  sug- 
gested it  as  a  good  cuddling  place  for  Miss  Sniffens. 
It  seemed  an  immense  house  to  us,  and  so  old-fasLioned 
and  beautiful,  with  the  dark  oak  wainscotings,  and  the 
waxed  floors  in  hall  and  dining-room.  How  perfect  we 
girls  could  make  it  with  the  very  nice  furniture  we  .had 
brought  down  from  the  city.  It  never  seemed  anything 
very  fine  when  we  were  there,  although  mother  prized  it. 
It  was  a  gift  from  her  father  when  she  married,  but  such 
things  seemed  old-fashioned  to  us  then,  whereas  now  it 
would  be  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  house.  We  longed 
to  begin.  Meg  and  I  could  do  the  '  heavy  respectable,' 
and  Flo  could  come  after  with  the  dainty,  finishing  up 
touches,  for  Flo  was  the  true  artist  of  the  family,  though 
I  vas  the  only  one  that  painted. 

Flo  was  just  like  mother,  only  she  was  tall  instead  of 
short,  but  she  had  mother's  quiet  ways,  and  her  low  voice 
and  little  refinements  of  manner,  that  not  one  of  the  rest 
of  us  had  ever  taken  up  as  an  inheritance.  Nat  was  more 
like  her  ;  but  Nat  was  a  man — that  is,  in  years,  though  ho 


22  CLOVEfiLY. 

always  was  a  child  to  us,  and  a  baby  in  arms  to  his  mo- 
ther. He  was  always  bringing  something  to  her  when  he 
came  home  at  night,  if  it  was  only  a  carets,  and  their 
whispered  confidences  were  never  at  an  end.  That  first 
night  he  brought  in  a  branch  of  white  blossoms — arbutus 
I  think  they  call  it — and  twisted  it  about  her  plate.  He 
leaned  over  and  kissed  her  forehead  as  he  did  so,  saying 
something  about  the  first  flowers  of  the-  season,  and  mo- 
ther's eyes  were  full  of  light  and  love  as  she  looked  up  at 
him — her  great  tall  son.  How  proud  she  was  of  him, 
and  how  proud  he  was  of  her  !  I  never  understood  the 
full  grace  of  motherhood  until  I  saw  Nat  and  his  mother 
together.  Now  Bob  never  does  anything  like  that.  Ho 
would  as  soon  present  mother  with  a  cabbage  as  a  flower, 
and  I  don't  know  but  sooner,  for  Bob  is  immensely  prac- 
tical, and  might  have  an  eye  on  the  next  day's  dinner.  I 
have  a  great  sympathy  for  Bob.  I  fancy  we  are  alike  in 
many  things.  He  came  in  late  while  we  were  at  our  sup- 
per ;  for  after  he  had  taken  care  of  our  trunks,  he  went 
swinging  around  the  farm  at  a  great  rate,  and  in  one 
hour  had  seen  all  that  it  was  possible  to  see  in  the  fading 
light,  very  much  as  we  had  been  doing  in  the  house,  but 
seeing  it  all  with  different  eyes  from  Nat's.  He  had  pass- 
ed by  yards  and  yards  of  the  feathery  white  blossoms 
that  twisted  and  twined  among  the  tender  green  in  the 
woods  about  the  house,  and  never  saw  it,  or  the  blue  vio- 
lets that  were  studding  the  short  grass,  or  the  slender 
bell  flowers  waving  in  the  crevices  of  the  rocks.  He  dash- 
ed about,  taking  a  view  here,  and  a  good  look  there, 
coming  in  just  about  the  time  that  Nat  did  with  his  little 
nosegay  for  mother. 

'All  serene,  mother,'  he  shouted,  as  he  knocked  the 
mud  and  red  clay  from  his  boots,  tossed  off  his  cap,  and 


WE   VFEW    orR    POSSESSIONS.  23 

wheeled  Into  place  at  table.  'A  jolly  old  farm — no  end 
of  pictures  for  Bab  to  paint.  I'll  take  you  where  you  can 
"  see  the  sea,"  to-morrow — worlds  of  woods,'  he  went 
on,  with  a  wave  of  his  bread  and  butter,  by  way  of  illus- 
tration ;  '  and,  O  Bess,  I  saw  lots  of  birds'  nests — egga 
in  them,  too  ;  it  just  does  a  fellow  good  to  take  a  breath. 
I  whooped  and  hurrahed,  and  whistled  and  danced,  and 
not  a  soul  heard  me.' 

•I did,'  said  Bess.  '  Meggie  said  it  was  a  cat-bird,  but 
I  knew  it  was  my  Kobin.' 

Bob  patted  her  cheek  and  rumpled  up  her  curly  hair, 
with  a  hearty  laugh.  '  I'll  take  you  out  to-morrow,  mis- 
sy, and  let  you  see  real  cat-birds  and  robins.  It  makes 
a  fellow  awful  hungry,  though.  I  could  eat  everything 
there  is  on  the  table  without  giving  the  rest  of  you  a 
ghost  of  a  chance.  Hallo,  mother,  where  did  you  get 
your  flowers  ?' 

'Nat  brought  them  to  me  from  the  woods,  I  believe.' 

'  From  the  woods  ?  You  don't  say  so  !  "Why  I  didn't 
see  them  ;  if  I  had,  I'd  have  brought  you  some  too. ' 

We  all  laughed,  first  at  that,  and  then  at  the  poor  boy's 
appetite,  and  then  at  our  nondescript  meal,  which  was 
dinner  and  tea  combined,  but  which  threatened  to  be 
barely  sufficient  for  Bob's  needs  ;  and  then  we  had  a  great 
deal  of  merriment  at  father's  expense,  who,  man  like,  had 
brought  all  the  china  into  use  that  should  have  been  put 
away,  and  put  that  away  which  we  considered  quite  in- 
dispensable. Altogether  it  was  a  sort  of  harlequin  enter- 
tainment, and  when  it  was  ended,  we  gathered  together 
in  one  of  the  great  empty  rooms,  where  Nat,  with  much 
forethought,  had  kindled  a  little  fire  upon  the  hearth, 
'more  for  cheerfulness  than  warmth,' he  explained,  al- 
though the  night  seemed  a  little  chilly. 


24  CLOVERLY. 

There  we  were,  eight  of  us,  all  together  again,  and  but 
for  the  surroundings,  we  might  have  imagined  ourselves 
back  in  the  city.  Father  put  one  arm  softly  across  the 
back  of  mother's  chair,  and  together  they  reviewed  things 
in  a  half  whisper,  while  Nat  occasionally  put  iu  a  word. 
I  took  a  stool  and  got  as  near  to  mother  as  I  could,  with 
a  feeling  that  father  and  Nat  were  going  to  absorb  her. 
It  was  true  they  had  not  seen  her  in  a  whole  month,  but 
I  was  always  a  little  jealous  of  my  tall  brother  :  so  I  sat 
as  close  to  her  as  possible,  with  the  folds  of  her  soft  gray 
gown  lying  over  my  dress,  and  my  hand  sometimes 
stealing  into  hers.  Meg  and  Bob  were  chatting  about  the 
woods,  the  sea,  and  the  farm,  Flo  quietly  putting  in  a 
word  now  and  then,  and  Bess  talking  volubly  to  Miss 
Sniffins,  who  looked  frightened  enough  after  her  long 
confinement  in  the  basket.  Mother's  eyes  ran  along  the 
row  gathered  about  the  fire,  and  I  think  she  felt  perfectly 
satisfied  ;  and  Nat  said  with  a  restful  expression  : 

'  The  last  two  weeks  were  a  trifle  lonely,  I  can  tell  you. 
It  begins  to  look  homelike,  to-night.' 

'O  by  Saturday  you'll  never  know  we've  moved,'  said 
Bob  with  an  energy  that  was  equal  to  every  occasion. 
'  Why  I'm  going  to  put  in  to-morrow  and  work  like  a 
Hercules.  I  don't  think  Hercules  ever  did  much  to  boast 
of  in  the  way  of  work,  though.  Suppose  I  try  to  work 
like  Bob  Fox  ?' 

And  now  I  might  just  as  well  set  it  down  here — sooner 
or  later  it  must  come  out — that  is,  if  I  make  this  a  strict- 
ly truthful  chronicle  ;  but  I  do  so  dread  to  put  disagree- 
able things  down  in  black  and  white.  Father  and  mother 
and  all  the  rest,  even  to  Flo,  are  not  a  bit  ashamed  of  it, 
and  why  should  I  be  ?  But  Fox  is  such  a  mean  little 
name,  and  Barbara  Fox — it  is  just  horrible  !  Bob  don't 


V,'J£    VIEW    OUR   POSSESSIONS.  25 

think  of  it  in  that  light,  and  I  believe  actually  rejoices 
in  his  title  of  Bob  Fox.  Flo  never  calls  him  that,  how- 
ever. She  and  Bess  say  Eobin  or  Robbie  ;  and  Flo  also 
never  calls  me  anything  but  Barbara  ;  but  it  don't  help 
matters  much — I'm  just  Barbara  Fox  or  Bab  Fox.  I  won- 
der if  I  shall  ever  marry,  and  if  it  -will  be  for  love  or  grat- 
itude !  I  am  certain  of  one  thing  :  I  could  never  refus-3 
a  man  with  a  fine  name  !  The  girls  tease  me  almost  out 
of  my  senses  about  it.  Bob  says  if  I  don't  like  Bab,  I 
can  change  it  to  sly — sly  Fox  ;  but  Flo  said  in  her  dreamy 
way  that  I  must  take  care  ;  it  '  is  the  little  foxes  that 
spoil  the  vines';  though  I  think  she  meant  it  more  to 
show  how  little  follies,  like  my  vanity  about  names,  for 
instance,  spoils  the  best  minds. 

I  wish  I  were  good  and  religious,  like  Flo  ;  for  I  am 
sure  it  must  be  her  religion  that  makes  her  so  serene  and 
happy.  If  I  were  like  her,  then  I  shouldn't  mind  such  a 
trifling  thing  as  a  name,  and  I  wouldn't  mind  our  pover- 
ty, and  our  little  economies  and  makeshifts  wouldn't  fret 
me  as  they  do  now.  She  takes  these  things  quietly,  call- 
ing them  duties,  and  loving  them  just  because  they  are 
duties,  and  that  is  the  one  thing  that  I  cannot  compre- 
hend about  her  religion.  She  looks  at  everything  from 
a  certain  elevation,  and  I  never  could,  if  I  lived  to  be  as 
old  as  Methuselah,  attain  to  her  sublime  heights.  In- 
deed, I  cannot  understand  it  even.  But  there  is  one 
thing  I  am  sure  of, — she  is  infinitely  my  superior  in 
everything,  and  because  she  is  just  so  far  above  and  be- 
yond me,  there  is  a  feeling  of  shame  in  my  heart  when  I 
write  it  down  here,  that  one  of  my  greatest  trials  is — not 
my  lack  of  religion — but  simply  that  my  name  is  Bar- 
bara — Bab  Fox  1 


CHAPTER  m. 

SETTIjINO  OURSELVES. 

The  next  morning  when  we  woke,  tired  and  dazed, 
peering  about  us  in  a  sort  of  half  dream,  forgetful  for  the 
moment  where  we  were,  the  first  sound  that  we  heard  was 
the  plash  and  trickle  of  the  rain  against  the  window 
glass.  Father  said  that  it  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  him 
that  we  had  taken  such  a  pleasant  clay  for  our  home> 
coming,  for  the  south  wind  that  we  had  thought  so  love- 
ly and  Summer-like,  was  sure  to  bring  up  clouds — and  he 
had  proved  a  true  prophet. 

Meg  said  '  Lovely  !'  the  first  thing  when  she  woke  up. 
'  Perfectly  charming  !  We  couldn't  ask  for  anything  bet- 
ter than  rain,  until  we  get  settled.  Come,  girls,  rouse 
yourselves,  and  let's  buckle  on  our  armor.' 

I  ran  to  the  window,  guiltless  of  curtain  or  shade,  and 
tried  to  get  a  glimpse  of  things  without. 

'  Sister  Annie,  what  do  you  see  ?'  called  Flo  in  her 
even  staccato  ;  and  Bess  slipped  out  of  bed  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  with  a  disappionted  '  O  1'  rubbing  her 
eyes  to  be  sure  that  she  was  not  dreaming. 

'  It  looks  very  vague,'  I  answered  ;  '  almost  as  much  so 
as  it  did  when  we  were  in  the  city,  and  tried  to  imagine 
it  to  ourselves.  Rivers  of  waters  !  Of  course  we  know 
there  is  a  sea  beyond,  or  perhaps  it's  a  tidal  wave  creep- 
ing up  to  our  very  door.  Ugh !  It  all  looks  watery 
enough.  Well,  as  Meg  says,  we  can  unpack  our  trunks 
and  boxes,  and  begin  to  set  up  our  regular  home  life 
again.' 


SETTLING    OORSELVES.  27 

'  I  shall  rather  enjoy  the  rain,'  and  Flo  proceeded  pla- 
cidly to  dress. 

'  It  will  be  too  wet  for  Miss  Sniffins  to  want  to  run 
away,'  supplemented  Bess.  'I'm  glad  it  rains,  too. 
She'll  be  all  at  home  and  happy  when  the  sun  comes  out 
again. ' 

'Catch  Miss  Sniffing  to  run  away,'  said  Meg.  'She 
knows  a  good  home  when  she's  in  it..  Did  you  butter 
her  paws,  little  woman  ?' 

'  Put  butter  on  her  paws,  Meggie  ?'  asked  Bess  doubt- 
fully. '  Why  no  ;  it  wouldn't  be  nice. ' 

'  But  that  is  an  important  ceremony.  She'd  never  run 
away  after  that.  She'd  lick  her  paws  and  lie  down  on 
the  hearth,  a  contented  cat  for  the  rest  of  her  life. ' 

'  O  would  she,  though  ?'  and  Bess  slipped  on  her  things 
quickly,  and  ran  down  to  anoint  the  cat,  while  we  girls 
dressed  more  slowly,  peered  out  of  one  window,  then 
another,  chatted  a  good  deal,  and  made  our  plans. 

'  Last  night  was  camping  out, '  said  Meg.  '  Now  I  pro- 
pose, Bab,  that  we  take  this  room,  and  Flo  and  Bess  can 
have  the  one  adjoining.  The  doors  can  stand  open  be- 
tween the  rooms,  and  it  will  be  so  pleasant.  Let's  make 
them  real  lovely.  We  can  have  pink  frivolities  on  our 
mantel  and  bureau,  and  Flo  can  have  blue. ' 

'  But  the  parlors  —oughtn't  we  to  do  those  first  ?'  I 
suggested. 

Meg  swept  me  a  courtesy.     '  Do  hear  how  magnificent 
she  has  grown,'  she  laughed.     '  I,  for  one,  will  be  thank- 
ful to  use  the  singular  instead  of  plural.     I  don't  believe 
there  is  a  room  in  the  house  that  we  can  style  a  drawing-  * 
room  or  a  parlor  ;    do  you,  Flo  ?' 

'  That  was  a  pretty  room  where  we  sat  last  night,'  re- 
turned Flo. 


28  CLOVEELY. 

'  What,  with  that  old-fashioned  chimney -place  ?  '  I  re- 
torted.  'It  looked  like  a  cavern.' 

'I  thought  it  lovely,'  said  Flo  with  undisturbed  seren- 
ity. '  We  can't  expect  a  marble  mantel  and  a  soft  coal 
fire.  There's  an  appropriateness  in  everything,  Barbara 
dear  ;  and  now  that  we  are  in  the  country,  we  must  not 
expect  city  things. ' 

'  We  had  little  enough,  then,'  I  echoed  dolefully. 

'  You  are  determined  to  be  a  martyr  ;  so  just  go  ahead 
boldly,  and  fulfil  your  destiny,  Bab,'  said  Meg.  'I'm 
going  to  find  my  strip  of  blue  sky  and  sunshine  indoors 
to-day,  since  it  will  rain.  Come,  let's  go  down  and  ex- 
plore.' 

She  and  I  linked  arms  and  went  down  stairs,  leaving 
Flo  to  sit  alone  by  the  window  and  read  her  little  Bible 
— 'just  a  few  verses  before  breakfast  time,  to  set  her 
right  for  the  day,'  she  said  ;  but  we  thought  she  was  al- 
waj'S  '  set  right,'  never  neglecting  a  duty,  and  doing  it  as 
she  did  everything  else,  quietly  and  serenely.  That  was 
Flo's  charm.  She  bent  her  head  seriously  over  her  little 
book,  turning  the  leaves  to  find  her  lesson  for  the  day. 
Meg  and  I  were  content  to  hear  it  at  prayers,  morning 
and  evening  ;  but  it  was  not  enough  for  Flo,  and  we  al- 
ways gave  her  this  little  time  to  herself  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

'  How  good  Flo  is,'  Meg  said,  as  she  closed  the  door 
softly.  '  To  think  that  she  wouldn't  neglect  her  reading, 
our  first  day  here,  and  we  are  all  excitement  and  hurly- 
burly.  We  ought  to  try  and  be  more  like  her.' 

'  Good  ?  Of  course — our  family  saint  ;  there  never  are 
two  in  any  family,  though  you  and  Nat  might  slip  in 
edgewise,  as  it  were  ;  but  I  never  can  be  one,  Meg  ;  you're 
all  sunshine,  and  Flo  is  all  peace  ;  there  must  be  a  clap 


SETTLING   OURSELVES.  29 

of  thunder  and  a  little  lightning  occasionally,  just  to 
purify  this  Summer  air,  you  know  ;  and  I'll  make  as  good 
a  whirlwind  as  anybody.' 

'  Don't  grumble,  Bab,  and  put  on  that  injured  air  ; 
brighten  up  a  little  for  mother's  sake,  this  morning.  It 
is  gloomy  enough  with  the  rain,  and  everything  strange, 
and  all  the  unpacking  and  putting  to  rights  before  her.' 

'  But  we  are  going  to  help. ' 

'  Yes,  my  queen  ;  we'll  be  the  hands  and  feet,  the  ma- 
chinery, if  your  royal  highness  will  condescend,  and 
mother  will  be  the  head  that  plans  for  us,  and  sets  us 
going.' 

'  The  motive  power,'  I  added  snappishly.  '  You  never 
get  things  by  their  right  names,'  and  I  went  on  to  the 
dining-room,  where  breakfast  was  already  laid,  and  where, 
to  say  the  least,  it  looked  as  if  the  storm  had  been  busy 
whisking  things  on  instead  of  laying  them  symmetrically 
and  properly.  I  knew  Flo's  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things 
would  be  outraged,  for  even  I  was  disgusted,  and  I  began 
a  hasty  straightening  out  of  knives,  forks,  and  plates,  for 
which  I  felt  justified  in  wearing  an  injured  frown,  refus- 
ing to  be  agreeable  to  any  one  during  the  meaL 

After  prayers,  father  and  Nat  put  on  oilskin  coats  and 
went  to  the  barn,  though  very  little  could  be  done  in  such 
a  soaking  rain. 

'  Bob  can  help  you  unpack  and  do  the  heavy  work  ; 
can't  you,  my  son  ?'  said  father,  turning  to  him,  and 
Bob  gave  a  reluctant  '  Yes. '  He  wanted  to  put  on  his 
boots,  and  take  an  umbrella  and  a  vacation  ;  but  he  wag 
much  too  good-natured  to  let  his  disappointment  be  seen 
in  his  face.  Meg  was  smiling,  of  course — provokingly 
so.  She  had  been  peering  around  into  the  empty  rooms, 
looking  for  her  strip  of  blue  sky — in  the  coal  cellar  most 


30  CLOVERLY. 

likely;  at  all  events,  she  liad  found  it.  Flo's  little  lesson 
had  put  her  straight  for  the  day,  if  indeed  she  had  Jieed- 
ed  '  straightening  ';  but  Bess  and  I  were  the  two  afflicted 
members  of  the  family.  Miss  Sniffins  had  resented  tho 
anointing,  which  Bsss  had  accomplished  with  Nat's  hair 
oil  in  lieu  of  butter,  as  she  felt  a  little  shy  of  the  new  girl 
and  the  kitchen  pantry;  and  now  she  had  been  crying 
over  two  or  three  long  scratches  that  the  indignant  young 
woman  in  tortoise-shell  habiliments  had  bestowed  upon 
her  pink  cheek.  Mother's  quiet  ways  and  steady  temper 
brought  us  all  out  in  good  humor  finally,  and  before 
the  morning  was  half  done  we  were  all  in  the  best  of 
spirits. 

Mother  was  the  head  ;  she  did  the  planning,  and  we 
executed  her  bidding.  Flo  went  after,  and  put  the  dainty 
finishing-up  touches  to  everything.  It  rained  the  whole 
live-long  day,  and  the  next,  and  the  next,  until  we  looked 
upon  it  as  a  fixed  fact.  And  while  it  rained  we  worked, 
and  after  we  had  fairly  gotten  into  '  the  swing  of  the 
thing,'  as  Bob  called  it,  every  hour  made  it  seem  more 
like  home.  The  furniture  that  in  the  city  amounted  to 
so  little,  was  in  thorough  good  taste  here.  And  the  par- 
lor, with  the  cavernous  chimney  that  I  had  thought  so 
ugly,  was  quite  perfect  when,  on  the  third  day,  the  sun 
consented  to  peep  in  and  glorify  everything.  We  had 
one  or  two  really  fine  pictures  beside  those  that  I  Lad 
painted,  and  which  my  old  teacher  declared  were  a  credit 
to  me,  and  we  had  plenty  of  the  right  kind  of  books,  for 
father  and  mother  both  had  taste  in  that  direction,  and  if 
they  had  ever  committed  an  extravagance  or  an  indiscre- 
tion, it  was  in  picking  up  occasionally  a  good  thing  in 
art  and  literature.  Up-stairs  it  was  unexceptionable. 
Flo  had  made  bowers  of  our  rooms  with  her  dainty  fin- 


SETTLING    OURSELVES.  31 

gers,  and  her  cheap  little  bewilderments  of  blue  and  pink 
drapery,  with  white  muslin  and  lace  frillings. 

"We  wore  our  old  dresses,  we  sang  our  very  blithest 
songs  ;  we  threw  up  our  windows  when  the  storm  was 
over,  and  let  in  all  the  sweet,  moist  air,  with  the  singing 
of  birds,  and  the  perfume  of  drifting  apple  and  peach 
blooms,  and  we  could  at  last  get  a  good  clear  view  across 
the  country,  dewy  and  sparkling  in  the  morning  sun. 
What  long  breaths  we  took,  and  how  we  wanted  to  walk 
over  to  the  cliff,  beyond  which  we  could  see  the  blue  arc 
of  the  sea,  and  the  white  sails  coming  and  going.  We 
worked  fast,  for  so  many  hands  made  it  seem  almost  like 
play,  and  in  a  week's  time  we  were  all  through.  We  had 
been  very  happy  and  light-hearted  about  it.  If  I  started 
a  tune  up  in  the  garret,  Meg  would  join  in,  and  Flo  would 
take  it  up  in  the  parlor,  and  mother  would  hum  it  softly 
to  herself  as  she  vibrated  between  the  kitchen  and  dining- 
room,  and  Nat  and  Bob  would  whistle  in  a  chorus,  as  they 
busied  themselves  in  the  barn,  or  out  on  the  lawn  in  front 
of  the  house,  where  a  wonderful  coleus  bed  was  in  pro- 
gress, and  a  croquet  ground  being  rolled  and  put  into 
shape. 

The  farmer  who  had  always  managed  the  farm  for  Un- 
cle Janeway,  was  still  in  charge.  His  white  house  looked 
very  neat  and  pretty,  half  hidden  by  trees  at  the  end  of 
the  lane,  and  under  his  direction  Nat  was  intending  to 
come  out  a  first-class  farmer.  Bob  was,  as  yet,  in  em- 
bryo, as  far  as  future  plans  were  concerned.  He  was  to 
attend  school,  and  walk  very  nearly  a  mile  every  day  to 
get  there  ;  but  until  we  were  in  order,  he  was  at  our  dis- 
posal— and  Bob  was  a  very  useful  family  appendage  ;  if 
he  did  nothing  else,  he  kept  our  spirits  up.  There  was 
one  thing  that  pleased  me  immensely.  I  had  at  last  a 


32  CLOYERLY. 

studio  of  my  own.  There  was  one  little  room  that  had 
been  finished  off  in  the  garret  like  a  large  closet,  with 
two  shelves  against  the  wall,  and  mother  gave  that  room 
exclusively  to  me.  There  was  one  window,  from  which  I 
had  an  extended  view  of  the  countrj7,  the  sea,  the  strips 
of  sand  stretching  like  slender  white  arms  across  a  little 
bay,  the  distant  spires  of  one  or  two  churches,  and  villas 
and  farmhouses  dotting  the  country  side  here  and  there. 
It  looked  like  anything  else  but  being  out  of  the  world, 
and  it  made  a  picture,  from  my  eyrie  in  the  roof,  pretty 
enough  to  put  on  canvas,  if  I  had  possessed  the  power. 
After  it  was  in  perfect  order,  I  called  the  family  up  to 
see.  They  all  laughed  when  they  saw  my  easel  out,  a 
sketch  in  charcoal  on  the  rack,  two  or  three  studies  in  oil, 
which  were  crude  enough,  a  plaster  bust,  and  my  color 
tubes  laid  on  the  shelves  in  a  most  orderly  manner,  with 
palette  knife,  mahl  stick,  and  brushes,  ready  for  use,  and 
a  rickety  pine  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with  two 
kitchen  chairs. 

'  Bab  means  to  fulfil  her  destiny  here,'  said  Nat,  swing- 
ing his  long  legs  from  the  window  seat  on  which  he  was 
perched,  and  looking  benignantly  around  on  my  posses- 
sions. 

'  But  don't  it  look  nice  ?'  I  asked,  with  a  comprehen- 
sive wave  of  my  hand.  '  Don't  it  look  like  a  real  artist  ?' 

'In  a  garret,  too,'  laughed  father.  '  Could  anything 
be  more  appropriate  or  suggestive  !' 

'  Paint  us  no  end  of  pictures,  Bab,  to  put  around  the 
rooms,'  stipulated  Meg ;  and  mother  patted  ray  Ii3:ul,  and 
said  she  was  not  at  all  ashamed  of  the  clever  little  begin- 
nings that  adorned  our  parlor  walls  ;  she  only  regretted 
that  I  had  to  give  my  lessons  up  just  when  I  was  doing 
so  well. 


SKTTLIXG    OUKSELVES.  33 

'  Nature  must  be  my  teacher  now, '  I  said  magnanimous- 
ly; and  then  Nat  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  wanted  to 
know  if  I  wouldn't  like  to  go  to  the  postoffice,  and  drive 
myself.  Meg  had  something  to  do  in  the  way  of  sewing, 
before  she  could  go  to  church  on  Sunday.  Flo  was  tired, 
Nat  busy,  and  Bob  had  mysteriously  disappeared  ;  so  I 
concluded  to  go,  and  take  Bess.  I  knew  how  to  hold  the 
reins  and  guide  a  horse,  having  gained  a  little  experienc3 
with  sundry  visits  among  country  friends,  and  I  knew  the 
pony,  as  Aunt  Janeway  still  called  the  superannuated  old 
creature,  had  given  up  the  frivolities  and  f riskiness  of 
youth,  at  least  twenty  years  back,  or  father  would  not 
have  given  his  consent  so  readily.  There  was  a  small 
phaeton,  with  a  bulgy  leather  top,  in  the  barn,  and  real- 
ly it  looked  quite  respectable  when  Nat  had  oiled  and 
washed  it,  and  harnessed  Dolly  before  it.  Bess  was 
charmed.  We  never  in  all  our  lives  had  possessed  such 
a  mine  of  enjoyment  as  this  promised  to  be.  Father  look- 
ed the  harness  all  over,  as  he  said  this  was  one  oE  the 
things  that  he  hoped  would  reconcile  mo  to  a  life  in.  the 
country,  and  then  he  gave  me  minute  directions  as  to  the 
road  I  might  take  after  going  to  the  postomce,  and  which, 
after  describing  almost  a  circle,  would  bring  me  safely 
back  to  our  lane,  with  a  tolerably  good  idea  of  our  sur- 
roundings. The  girls  came  out  on  the  porch  to  see  us 
off,  Meg  threw  her  slipper  after  us,  and  Bess  and  I  lean- 
ed back  comfortably  in  the  old  phaeton,  while  '  the  pony ' 
ambled  rheumatically  out  on  the  highway,  and  so  to  the 
posl office  and  through  the  village,  and  then  toward  an- 
other larger  place,  that  father  called  a  town,  but  was  no 
town  at  all,  so  to  speak.  True  there  was  a  small  hotel, 
or  tavern,  as  the  country  people  called  it,  a  postofSce, 
•with  grocery,  dry  gooJs,  and  provision  store  all  in  one, 


34  CLOVEKLY. 

with  a  lumber  and  coal  yard  back  of  it,  and  which,  like 
the  towu  itself,  was  spread  over  such  an  extent  of  ground 
that  it  had  every  right  to  be  pretentious,  and  rnaintaia 
its  dignity  as  a  first-class  store.  It  had  two  broad  streets 
crossing  each  other  at  right  angles  ;  tall  old  trees  shaded 
it,  and  handsome  dwellings  stood  back  of  well-clipped 
lawns  and  trim  hedges,  with  here  and  there  a  bay  window 
thrust  out,  as  if  to  show  that  modern  taste  had  stepped 
in  to  save  the  houses  from  that  air  of  quaint  similitude 
which  is  apt  to  nourish  in  out-of-the-way  country  places. 
There  was  also  a  gray,  weather-beaten  church,  which  gave 
the  town  importance,  as  well  as  one  an  idea  of  the  past, 
with  its  small,  square  tower  and  pointed  steeple,  looking 
like  an  inverted  tin  funnel  as  it  glistened  in  the  sun. 
There  was  also  a  crown  and  ball  atop  of  the  funnel,  for 
the  church  had  been  built  when  New  Jersey  belonged  to 
the  Crown,  and  was  true  and  loyal  in  its  fealty  to  the 
king.  Father  had  told  me  of  the  church,  and  how  every 
one  in  the  country  about  loved  and  venerated  it.  And 
the  crown  was  left  there,  though  once  our  blue  coats  tried 
to  shoot  it  away.  Bess  and  I  drove  Dolly  up  to  tlie  fence, 
while  we  jumped  out  of  the  phaeton  and  went  inside  of 
the  yard,  and  looked  curiously  up  at  it.  Not  that  we 
republicans  care  for  the  crown  !  It  was  just  a  bit  of  tho 
old  time,  when  it  was  considered  sound  doctrine  to  weigh 
well  the  Scripture  injunction  to  '  fear  God  and  honor 
the  king ' — a  bit  of  the  old  tima  that  it  would  be  well  to 
remember  now,  for  in  disobeying  the  latter  injunction, 
sometimes  we  are  apt  to  forget  the  former  also.  The  Re- 
public forgive  me — I  am  almost  tempted  to  go  back  and 
be  a  Tory  !  How  Nat  would  draw  down  the  corn  rs  of 
his  mouth  if  he  should  see  this  line  in  my  little  chronicle, 
and  how  father  would  lift  his  eyebrows  -and  I,  just  out 


SETT1.IXG    OURSKLTES.  35 

of  school,  as  it  -were.  It  -would  be  much  the  wiser  plan 
for  me  to  keep  these  pages  to  myself,  I  think.  Think  — 
there's  the  very  word — women  will  think.  Some  people 
'guess'  and  'fancy,'  and  'believe'  or  suppose;  some 
even  'calculate'  and  '  reckon,' and  here  in  New  Jersey 
the  aborigines  '  allow  ';  but  think  is  the  better  word,  and 
to  think  for  one's  self — that  is  our  privilege.  Women 
will  think,  and  that  is  a  difficulty  this  country  presents  ; 
even  young  girls  and  children  do  the  same.  Now  Bess, 
who  is  barely  eight  years  of  age,  plucked  the  skirts  of  my 
gown  as  we  stood  under  the  shadow  of  the  tall  trees,  look- 
ing at  the  rows  of  defaced,  gray  tombstones,  reading  in 
quaint  English  that  here  'ye  worshipful  Col.' So-and-so 
was  buried,  '  true  to  his  country,  his  God,  and  his  king.' 

'  What  does  it  mean  ?'  she  asked,  with  an  air  of  grave 
perplexity.  '  What  are  we  doing  with  a  King  here,  sister 
Barbara  ?' 

Poor  Bess  !  In  leaving  the  city  she  had  stepped  as  it 
were  into  another  world. 

'  We're  not  doing  anything  with  him, '  I  answered  with 
a  short  laugh.  'All  that  was  finished  up  years  ago,  Bsss. 
There  is  no  King  here  except  the  memory  of  a  dead  old 
tyrant.  We're  not  out  of  the  world  yet,  child, — you'll 
learn  all  about  it  by  and  by. ' 

'I  know  it  now,  a  little,' hesitated  Bess.  She  never 
talked  straight  out  with  me  as  she  did  with  the  others. 
That  was  because  I  felt  my  years,  and  was  apt  to  bo 
priggish  and  take  airs  of  age  and  wisdom  on  myself,  which 
the  others  never  did.  But  the  newness,  or  rather  the 
oldness  of  the  thing,  surprised  her  into  thinking  aloud. 
'  I  know  about  the  war, — the  Revolution  that  was,  Bar- 
bara. It  is  in  my  geography — and  about  the  Tea  spilled 
overboard — do  you  think  it  was  right,  sister  ?  ' 


36  CLOVEULJT. 

'Why,  of  course,  yes,'  I  answered  with  another  glance 
at  the  spire  and  the  glittering  crown,  '  right  enough,  I 
suppose. ' 

'Well,  then,  what  are  all  thess  wicked  men  buried  here 
for  ? '  and  Bessie's  cheeks  were  red  at  the  presumption  of 
the  poor  inanimate  clay. 

'We  must  not  be  silly,  Bess,' I  answered.  'How  do 
we  know  they  were  wicked  ? ' 

'  Why,  if  they  fought  for  the  King — ' 

'  Yes,  but  you  can  read  it  all  there,'  I  said,  pointing  to 
the  flat,  gray  stone,  again.  "True  to  his  God,  his  coun- 
try, and  his  King  " — he  may  have  been  a  saint  for  all  we 
know  to  the  contrary.  Bess. ' 

'  I  don't  see  how,'  and  Bess  shook  her  curls  steadily. 
'Father  says  that  people  that  are  good,  must  do  good 
things;  and  the  Bible  says  "by  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them."  ' 

I  couldn't  help  it, — I  leaned  upon  a  headstone,  and 
burst  out  laughing  right  merrily ;  which  was  not  the 
thing  to  do,  I  know,  in  a  quiet  cotmtry  churchyard,  sur- 
rounded not  only  by  the  old  loyal  dead,  but  where  fresh 
rifts  and  faded  flowers  showed  signs  of  sorrow  that  be- 
longed even  to  our  day.  A  step  on  the  walk  startled  me, 
and  I  looked  up  just  in  time  to  see  a  gentleman  in  cleri- 
cal dress  pass  into  the  church.  His  head  was  turned  for 
a  moment  toward  me,  the  grave  eyes  bent  in  inquiring 
disapproval  upon  us  both,  and  then  ho  was  gone. 

I  came  to  myself  in  a  moment,  and  called  Bess,  who  was 
skipping  about  in  the  most  sprightly  fashion,  reading 
aloud  record  after  record  on  the  moss  grown,  and  some- 
times fallen  stones.  It  was  astonishing  how  many  '  wick- 
ed men,'  as  she  persisted  in  calling  them,  were  gathered 
together  to  await  the  last  trump  in  this  alien  earth.  And 


SETTLING    OURSELVES.  37 

side  by  side  with  them  lay  patriots, — the  men  we  called 
good,  the  men  who  died  to  purchase  our  freedom, — which 
were  right,  and  who  were  good  ?  Side  by  side  they 
peacefully  rested  in  the  broad,  quiet  sunshine;  and  Bess, 
with  her  yellow  hair  streaming  about  her  shoulders, 
flashed  like  a  sunbeam  herself  over  each  gray,  lonely 
grave,  with  the  inquiry  resting  upon  her  lips  'Why  were 
the  good  and  bad  all  buried  together,  sister  ?  Tell  me, 
— I  should  like  to  know.  Some  fought  for  God  and  the 
King,  and  some  for  God  and  their  country, — it  says  so 
ou  the  stones.  There  must  be  a  lie  somewhere. ' 

'  God  will  tell  at  the  judgment,'  I  said  softly.  '  Don't 
ask  such  questions  again,  Bess,'  taking  her  hand  in  mine. 
'See,  there  is  to  be  a  funeral,'  pointing  to  a  newly  dug 
grave  that  I  had  not  noticed  before.  '  We  ought  not  tc 
have  come  in  at  all,  perhaps,'  and  we  hurried  away,  Bes- 
sie's eyes  growing  wider  as  she  gave  an  awestruck  glance 
down  into  the  dark  pit,  yawning  almost  at  our  feet.  She 
did  not  speak  for  a  long  time  again,  not  until  we  had 
jogged  slowly  half  of  the  way  home. 

'  I  would  not  like  to  be  buried  there,  sister,'  she  shudder- 
ed, '  in  that  ugly,  black  place,  and  among  all  those  men.' 

But  to  me  it  looked  sweet  and  still,  lying  quietly  in  the 
Summer  sunshine, — a  peaceful  place,  and  a  fit  spot  to 
bury  old  feuds,  and  where  it  did  not  matter  whether  the 
coat  worn  in  life  were  red  or  blue,  now  that  ths  grave 
had  cbsed  over  it. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

THE     NEW      EDEN. 

Our  drive  home  was  rather  a  silent  one,  for  both  Bess 
and  I  had  a  good  deal  of  thinking  to  do,  though  we  stop- 
ped the  old  horse  to  take  a  good  look  at  the  country  now 
and  then.  And  the  home  lane  was  beautiful  as  we  drove 
down  under  the  blossoming  trees,  and  Meg  looked  like  a 
picture,  as  she  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  on  the  front 
piazza,  with  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  her  lap  that  she  was 
making  up  into  a  nosegay,  to  adorn  the  tea-table,  I  knew, 
We  girls  had  promised  ourselves  this  little  luxury  all  the 
Summer  through,  if  the  flower  beds  amounted  to  any- 
thing. Meantime  Nat  supplied  us  from  the  wood.  She 
waved  her  straw  hat  to  us  as  we  drove  in  through  the 
gate,  and  then  running  half  way  down  the  steps  to  meet 
me,  called  out 

'  Have  you  had  a  nice  time  ?  So  have  we.  "We've  had 
three  calls — that  is,  three  in  one — our  neighbors,  you 
know — the  ones  who  used  to  live  in  this  house  ;  and  they 
say  it's  just  charming  down  here — they  wouldn't  go  back 
to  the  city  for  the  world.' 

'  Dear  me  !  wouldn't  they  ?'  I  responded.  '  Well, 
perhaps  when  I'm  just  ready  to  drop  into  the  grave,  I'D 
like  it  too.  Here  Bess,'  and  I  gave  the  reins  into  hor 
hands,  and  puffed  up  with  importance,  she  drove  around 
to  the  barn  all  alone  by  herself..  '  You  must  take  Flo  on 
Monday,  if  it's  pleasant,  and  see  it  all.  It  is  pretty. 
You  can't  drive  a  mile  without  a  glint  of  water  flashing 
upon  you  from  some  source.  If  it  isn't  the  sea,  it's  a 
cove  or  a  stream,  a  river  or  a  brook  ;  and  men  in  boats 


THE    NEW   EDEN.  39 

are  raking  oysters  or  clams,  and  bare-legged  boys  are 
hanging  to  the  bridges,  fishing  or  crabbing  ;  and  there's 
lets  of  little  villages,  -with  just  a  depot  and  a  store,  and 
pretty,  quiet-looking  houses.  The  whole  world  was  asleep 
in  the  sunshine  Ihis  morning,  though.  I  only  saw  one 
person  who  acted  as  if  he  were  not  sitting  to  be  photo- 
graphed. And  the  quaintest  old  church  !  Bess  and  I 
got  out  and  walked  all  through  the  graveyard.  It's  Revolu- 
tionary ground  here,  Meg — every  step  of  it.  There  was 
to  be  a  funeral — there's  the  bell  now,'  as  the  sound  of  a 
far  away  steady  tolling  came  to  our  ears. 

'Isn't  it  sweet,'  said  Meg,  stopping  to  listen  with  a 
grave,  awed  look  in  her  bine  eyes. 

'  What  a  girl  you  are  !  No  ;  it's  horrible  to  be  buried 
in  that  black,  drradful  ground,  and  in  such  a  dilapidated, 
lonely  spot.  It  gives  me  the  shivers  to  think  of  it !'  for- 
getting that  a  little  while  before  I  had  settled  in  my  own 
mind  that  it  wai  peaceful,  beautiful,  and  still. 

I  turned  to  go  away,  and  then  came  back.  'By  the 
way,  we  saw  the  clergyman — I  suppose  it  was  the  clergy- 
man. Bess  and  I  were  laughing  and  having  a  very  com- 
fortable time  spelling  out  the  horrid  old  inscriptions, 
when  he  came  down  the  walk.  He  looked  as  if  he  thought 
we  were  committing  sacrilege,  and  walked  away  disgust- 
ed. I'm  sure  we  didn't  mean  any  harm.  How  did  I  know 
that  they  had  just  finished  digging  a  grave,  and  there  was 
to  be  a  funeral  ?  I  suppose  it  was  wrong  for  us  to  be  so 
merry,  though.' 

'  Perhaps  he  didn't  notice  you,'  said  Meg. 

'  O  yes  he  did.  His  eyes  were  brown,  and  they  were 
as  grave  and  disapproving  as  yours  are  sometimes.  So 
you  liked  the  people  who  called  to  day  ?' 

'  Ever  so  much — the  mother  and  two  daughters — oldei 


40  CLOVEELY. 

than  \ve  are,  I  should  say.  They  apologized  for  calling 
30  soon.  I  rather  think  they  did  not  expect  to  see  us 
settled  and  quite  in  order  to  receive  visitors  ;  but  Mrs. 
Desmond  had  just  heard  that  we  were  Church  people,  and 
she  wanted  to  claim  us  for  their  little  particular  church  ; 
it  seems  there  are  several  around  here,  and  theirs,  she 
says,  is  small  and  poor,  and  needs  every  one.  Flo  offer- 
ed to  take  a  class  in  Sunday-school  right  off,  and  so  did 
I,  and  the  young  ladies  seemed  very  much  pleased.' 

'I  dare  say.  I  sha'n't  take  one,  though,'  in  my  usual 
spirit  of  antagonism. 

'I  liked  the  Miss  Desmonds,'  Meg  continued,  taking 
no  notice  of  my  freak.  '  They  are  very  quiet,  however, 
and  I  really  do  believe  it  annoys  them  to  have  their 
mother  talk  so  much.  "We  managed  to  get  in  a  few  words 
edgewise,  as,  mother  and  Flo  being  at  home,  our  force  was 
nearly  equal  to  theirs.  But  Mrs.  Desmond  could  talk 
two  like  mother  down  any  day.' 

'  Were  they  dressed  very  much  ?' 

'  O  yes,  very  much.  They  came  in  a  pretty  low  car- 
riage, with  driver  in  livery,  all  very  grand,'  and  Meg 
smiled  as  complacently  as  if  she  had  been  attired  in  satin, 
and  sitting  in  state  to  receive  them. 

'And  we'll  return  the  call  on  foot  in  our  gray  serges, 
with  the  dust  all  over  our  boots,  or  else  go  lumbering 
along — the  whole  family  together — in  that  old  black 
hearse  that  Uncle  Janeway  had  the  audacity  to  give  us, 
and  that  Bess  will  call  a  family  carriage.  Nat  can  drive 
us,  I  suppose,  with  a  pair  of  old  party  gloves  cleaned  up 
to  make  it  look  Like  a  livery.  I  won't  go. ' 

'  How  silly, '  said  Meg  in  her  tranquil  way.  '  Don't 
forget  that  we  are  ladies,  Bub,  my  dear,  and  if  we  choose 
to  go  on  foot,  Mrs.  Desmond  and  her  daughters  would 


THE   NEW   EDEN.  41 

think  no  less  of  us.  I  told  them  quite  frankly  that  -we 
were  very  plain  people,  not  in  the  country  as  they  are, 
for  pleasure,  although  we  were  going  to  do  our  very  best 
to  yoke  pleasure  and  duty  together.' 

*O  I've  no  doubt  you  told  them  enough,'  I  said  shortly, 
all  my  pri  le  flaming  up  in  my  face,  '  and  they  were  im- 
mensely edified,  of  course.  Did  you  tell  them  that  it 
was  Uncle  Jane\vay's  farm,  and,  because  father  was  the 
unfortunate  one  of  the  family,  he  let  us  have  it  free  of 
rent  ?  O  you  didn't,  eh  ?  That  was  kind,  Meg.  I 
didn't  expect  such  diplomacy  from  you.  And  you  didn't 
tell  them  how  many  dresses  we  had  apiece,  and  just  the 
state  of  our  finances  all  around  ?  Then  you  were  very 
remiss,  I  can  tell  you.  What  did  you  talk  about,  I  won- 
der ?' 

'  The  new  rector,  for  one  thing,  and  you  for  another. 
We  had  quite  a  discussion  on  Art.  Mother  introduced 
"my  daughter  Barbara"  on  the  wall,  as  "my  daughter 
Barbara "  wasn't  here  to  be  introduced  herself.  And 
Mrs.  Desmond  stepped  off  a  few  paces  as  if  she  were 
measuring  a  duelling  ground,  and  made  a  tube  of  her 
gloved  hand,  inspecting  them  thoroughly.  She  thinks 
you  amazingly  clever  !  I  know  she  went  away  with  cor- 
rect impressions  of  our  importance  as  a  family,  for  she 
admitted  that  we  were  an  acquisition — quite  an  acquisi- 
tion— to  society  here.  Cheer  up,  Bab  !  You  see  we  are 
admitted  already.  We  are,  so  to  speak,  hovering  on  the 
outer  edge  of  the  charmed  circle  just  now,  but  we  shall 
be  in — quite  to  the  hub,  my  dear,  as  soon  as  we  are  thor- 
oughly known.  You  an  artist,  Flo  a  saint,  and  I  a  phi- 
lanthropist. ' 

When  Meg  began  she  was  like  Tennyson's  Brook,  she 
would  'ran  on  forever,'  and  there  was  no  stopping  her. 


42  CLOVERLY. 

'O  Meg,'  I  said,  {Ido  sometimes  get  so  disgusted  with 
you,  I  wonder  that  we  never  have  au  out  arid  out  quar- 
rel.' 

Instead  of  being  vexed  with  my  tantrums,  as  any  one 
else  would  have  had  a  good  right  to  be,  Meg  went  off 
into  the  most  tantalizing  little  ripples  of  laughter,  then 
taking  hold  of  each  side  of  her  pretty  cambric  dress  she 
danced  and  bowed  before  me  as  if  she  were  bent  upon 
doing  me  a  reverence. 

'  Bab  !  you  poor,  blighted,  frail  flower ! '  she  cried, 
'  I'm  afraid  the  storms  of  this  life  will  be  too  much  for 
you.  If  you  knew  when  you  looked  well,  you'd  put  on  a 
tinsel  crown,  let  your  back  hair  down,  and  set  up  for 
heavy  tragedy  tho  rest  of  your  life.' 

'I  certainly  must  be  different  from  anyone  else,' I 
said  half  pleasantly,  for  good  humor  is  infectious,  and 
Meg  always  knew  the  shortest  way  to  bring  me  down 
from  my  lofty  elevation.  Even  the  strange  young  clergy- 
man whom  we  met  in  the  church-yard  this  morning  gave 
me  a  look  as  if  he  thought  me  a  Kalmuck  Tartar  just  ar- 
rived. I'm  disgusted  with  myself  and  everybody  else, 
and  of  all  hard  things  in  the  world  its  the  hardest  to  be 
poor. ' 

'My  afflicted  young  relative  ! '  shouted  Bob,  who  had 
clattered  around  the  piazza  just  in  time  to  catch  my  last 
remark.  In  a  moment  his  by  ho  means  immaculate 
handkerchief  was  applied  to  my  eyes,  and  catching  me 
about  the  waist,  we  staggered  around  the  piazza,  he  pre- 
tending to  sob  and  bewail  my  woes. 

'  Unburden  your  heart,  my  sweet  sister.  Let  me  share 
your  grief,  or  I  die,'  he  cried,  imitating  my  tragic  tones. 

'You  are  a  perfect  ruffian,  Bob  ! '  and  I  angrily  disea- 
gaged  my  arm,  and  tossed  away  his  handkerchief. 


THE   NEW    EDEN.  43 

'Why,  Barbara,  my  dear,'  said  Flo,  in  her  soft,  grave 
way,  as  she  stepped  out  of  the  open  window  to  see  what 
the  tumult  was  about,  '  doii't  speak  in  that  way  to  your 
brother.  Stop  and  think  for  a  moment. ' 

'O  Flo,  I  can't  be  good,  like  you,'  I  burst  out,  'and 
take  it  all  easy  as  if  the  world  were  one  long  Sunday. 
Everything  worries  me,  and  I'm  tired,  and  homesick, 
and  cross. ' 

'And  hungry  too,'  added  Bob  with  instant  penitence, 
coming  to  the  rescue.  '  Why,  I  feel  like  a  hunter,  my- 
self. I'll  go  and  hurry  up  mother's  special  artist  in  the 
kitchen,  and  after  dinner  we'll  all  feel  serene  enough  to 
go  out  on  the  knoll  yonder  and  see  the  wonders  of  the 
sea.  Cheer  up,  Bab.  You  were  born  to  be  a  Queen  and 
eat  out  of  a  gold  dish,  we  all  know.' 

And  on  he  went  to  the  kitchen  to  see  the  '  special  art- 
ist '  whose  powers,  to  j'idge  by  her  face,  were  limited.  I 
was  going  to  follow  him,  but  Flo  put  out  a  detaining 
hand  and  laid  it  gently  on  my  sleeve. 

'  Stop  a  minute,  Barbara,  darling.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you.  I  wish  jou  could  feel  as  quiet  and  peaceful  as  the 
day.  Stop  a  moment  and  look.  The  world  seems  so 
lovely  to  me,  why  can't  we  ourselves  be  in  tune  with  Na- 
ture ? ' 

'  Speak  for  yourself,  Flo,'  I  said.  'I  think  you  always 
are  iu  tune. ' 

'  No,  dear,  no  ;  but  life  seems  so  little,  so  short,  and 
every  idle  word  we  utter  must  live  forever — it  is  such  an 
overwhelming  thought  to  me  sometimes.' 

I  had  not  a  word  to  say.  I  never  had  to  Flo.  Meg 
would  have  ridiculed  me  or  scolded  me  soundly  if  she 
had  taken  it  upon  herself  to  administer  reproof ;  but 
Meg  had  a  matter  of  fact  way  of  looking  a  fault  squarely 


44  CLOVEELY. 

in  the  face  and  treating  it  as  she  would  have  treated  an 
unruly  child,  while  Flo  was  apt  to  go  a  little  beyond — 
taking  higher  ground  as  it  were,  and  that  seemed  to 
lift  her  into  a  different  atmosphere  from  ours — a  some- 
thing infinitely  purer  than  I  could  ever  understand. 
Perhaps  that  was  one  reason  why  I  fell  back  upon  Meg 
for  companionship,  when  in  truth  it  should  have  been 
Flo,  as  she  was  nearer  my  own  age.  She  kept  her  hand 
still  on  mine,  waiting  for  the  answer  that  did  not  come, 
but  my  eyes  followed  hers  as  they  rested  on  the  qiiiet 
scene  spread  before  us,  and  that,  and  the  touch  of  her 
hand,  quieted  me — such  a  peaceful  old  earth  it  was. 
The  cattle  were  lowing  in  the  meadow  land,  the  swallows 
twittering  about  the  roof,  and  the  fowls  were  clucking  in 
the  barnyard  as  merrily  as  if  an  egg  were  an  important 
scientific  discovery,  and  all  the  machinery  of  our  little 
hv.lividual  world  was  going  on  serenely  under  the  bluest 
of  skies  and  the  brightest  of  sunshine.  How  could  one 
help  being  '  in  tune '  ?  A  striped  squirrel  ran  like  a  flush 
along  the  fence  and  up  the  trunk  of  a  huge  butternut 
tree,  turning  his  head  sideways,  as  much  as  to  say  while 
he  gave  us  a  sharp  look,  'Newcomers,  eh  ?  Janeway  Farm 
is  let,  to  be  sure ;  now  what  sort  of  people  may  you 
be?' 

I  leaned  forward  and  touched  my  lips  to  Flo's.  I 
could  not  say  a  word,  but  that  night  when  the  purple  twi- 
light was  filling  the  room,  and  mother's  fingers  were 
busy  with  the  knitting  that  could  go  on  without  need  of 
day  or  lamp  light,  I  drew  a  stool  to  her  side,  and  lay- 
ing my  head  against  her  shoulder,  I  let  some  of  the  quiet 
and  rest  of  the  time  into  my  heart  while  we  talked  over 
the  events  of  the  day.  The  twilight  was  always  our 
•confession  time,'  and  the  stool  by  mother's  side  the 


THE    NEW   EDEN.  45 

confessional.  I  was  there  oftener  than  any  one  else, 
although  we  all  hail  a  fashion  of  '  owning  up '  to  our  mo- 
ther before  we  could  go  to  bed  and  sleep  peacefully. 
First  and  foremost  my  silly  anger,  and  then  my  wicked 
pride — my  rebellious  murmurings  against  poverty — not 
the  grinding  hard  poverty  that  so  many  people  around 
us  were  suffering,  but  the  simple  denial  of  luxuries  and 
grandeur — a  selfish  repining  that  we  were  not  rich  ;  this 
v.'as  the  spirit  that  I  had  indulged  in  all  through  the 
d.iy. 

I  shall  not  tell  what  mother  said  to  me.  Everybody 
knows — at  least  those  who  are  blessed  with  mothers.  I 
often  pity  those  who  have  never  known  anything  about 
it.  There  aro  so  many  wise  things  that  a  mother  can 
say — at  least  our  mother  can — and  there  are  so  many  un- 
wise things  that  we  children  say  and  do.  The  Prayer 
Book  has  it  set  down  for  us  so  perfectly,  '  We  have  left 
undone  those  things  which  we  ought  to  have  done  ;  and 
we  have  done  those  things  which  we  ought  not  to  have 
douo.' 

I  often  look  at  large  families  and  thiuk  what  endless 
comedies  and  tragedies  are  going  on  every  day,  and 
wonder,  with  Bob,  if  six  children  ara  as  good  as  a 
travelling  circus,  how  a  family  of  ten  or  twelve  manage  ; 
or  rather,  how  one  mother,  who  must  be  manager,  direct- 
or, arid  property  olerk,  all  in  onn,  can  get  along  with  the 
lot.  Any  one  to  look  at  our  mother,  with  her  pale  sweet 
face  and  blue  eyes,  her  gentle  ways  and  cooing  voice, 
would  regard  her  in  any  light  but  that  of  proprietor  of 
B. -id  circus.  One  would  thiuk  she  must  be  full  of  cares, 
aii'l  worn  and  faded,  but  a  glance  at  her  face  dispels  that. 
It  is  just  the  face  that  one  would  love  to  say  mother  to, 
and  oue  that  could  only  have  grown  so  sweet  and  beau- 


46 


CLOYEULY 


tiful  by  sitting  mucli  at  the  cradles  of  little  ones,  or  h 
ing  them  to  sleep  in  her  tender  arms.  Yes ;  mother  ia 
just  mother — what  more  can  I  say  ?  But  it  is  M,  g,  not 
Flo,  who  is  going  to  be  like  her  one  of  these  days,  when 
she  has  lived  long  enough,  and  been  made  perfect 
enough  through  suffering,  as  our  mother  has. 


CHAPTEB  V. 

NEW       FEIENDS. 

The  rector  of  the  church,  in  -which  the  family  of  Des- 
mond worshipped  was  an  old  man,  and  had  stood  at  his 
post  for  many,  many  years.  He  had  baptized  and  mar- 
ried the  children  who  were  now  gray-haired  men  and 
women,  and  in  due  course  of  time  performed  the  same 
rites  for  their  children.  He  had  rejoiced  with,  them  in 
their  joy,  and  mourned  with  them  when  they  buried 
their  dead  ;  and  now  in  his  old  age,  all  he  asked  was  to 
die  among  those  whom  he  in  an  especial  manner  re- 
garded as  his  people.  But  the  old  parish,  was  large, 
and  the  duties  heavy,  and  when  little  villages  sprung  up 
and  dotted  the  country  side,  there  was  an  earnest  de- 
mand for  other  churches.  It  was  not  every  family  that 
could  afford  a  carriage  and  horses  to  drive  five,  six,  or 
even  ten  miles  to  church  of  a  Sunday,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  Sunday-school  and  weekly  services  ;  so  after  a  time 
two  parishes  were  formed  out  of  the  old  one,  and  Mr. 
Leighton,  who  could  not  say  nay  to  his  people,  followed 
them  to  the  new  church,  which  hr.d  been  born  to  him  like 
a  child  in  his  old  age.  And  like  a  tender  infant,  he  had 
guarded  it  in  its  struggle  for  life,  until  at  last  the  little 
offshoot  was  declared  quite  independent,  and  able  to 
stand  upon  its  feet,  as  it  were,  and  maintain  an  individ- 
uality of  its  own.  Now  they  were  about  contemplating 
an  assistant  rector ;  but  with  a  kindly  reverence,  they 
still  held  their  old  pastor  as  head,  and  the  new  comer — 
whoever  he  might  be — would  only  be  an  assistant  after 
all.  Mrs.  Desmond ,  who,  from  coming  occasionally  to 


48  CLOVEHLY. 

the  seashore  of  a  Summer,  had  settled  down  into  living 
there  all  the  year  round,  was  one  of  the  ablest  supporters 
of  St.  Thomas.  It  was  she  who  had  started  the  move- 
ment in  the  first  place,  put  down  her  name  for  the  larg- 
est subscription,  and  contrived  by  her  activity  and  zeal 
to  keep  it  thoroughly  wide  awake  now.  They  owned  a 
pretty  Gothic  structure  of  rough  stone,  with  really  fine 
stained  windows,  and  a  good  bell  swinging  in  the  little 
pointed  tower,  and  they  could  afford  beside,  to  give  Mr. 
Leigliton  the  regular  salary  to  which  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed, as  well  as  lay  by  something  toward  the  time  when 
a  young  assistant  should  come,  who  would,  one  of  these 
days,  have  to  be  made  rector. 

It  was  to  this  church  that  father  and  mother  had  rather 
pledged  themselves  at  the  time  of  our  neighbor's  call, 
and  to  which  we  all  drove  the  Sunday  after  we  were  pet- 
tied.  I  say  all,  but  Bob  and  I  walked.  It  was  not  a 
mile  from  our  house,  and  it  was  less  of  a  humiliation  to 
appear  in  dusty  boots,  than  for  me  to  eschew  my  princi- 
ples and  go  with  the  caravan.  I  said  nothing,  however, 
for  mother's  little  talk  had  quite  shamed  and  sobered 
me  ;  and  Bob,  who  was  one  of  the  best  natured  of  fel- 
lows, was  quite  willing  to  be  my  escort,  having  entirely 
put  out  of  his  mind  my  rebuff  of  the  day  before,  so  our 
walk  was  a  pleasant  one  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

And  the  church  was  pretty,  the  congregation  devout, 
and  Mr.  Leighton,  though  very  old,  preached  a  good 
sermon — that  is.  all  that  I  heard  of  it  was  good  ;  for  my 
thoughts  wandered,  and  my  eyes  would  rove  over  the 
little  congregation,  and  I  wondered  '  who  was  who,'  and 
if  we  should  ever  feel  an  interest  in  any  of  those  strange 
faces.  I  picked  out  Mrs.  Desmond  and  her  two  daugh- 
ters at  once  ;  one  of  them  was  seated  at  the  organ,  and 


NEW    FRIENDS.  49 

my  worldly  eyes  took  in  the  fashionable  cut  of  their 
dresses,  and  the  unmistakably  French  creations  that 
adorned  their  heads.  There  were  several  city  families 
apparent!}7,  some  of  them  strangers  like  ourstlves,  but  I 
was  glad  to  see  that  our  entrance  into  church,  and  the 
formal  seating  of  eight  persons,  created  a  little  move- 
ment of  interest  among  them  all.  I  knew  we  would  be 
stared  at — new  comers  always  are  ;  and  in  a  small  coun- 
try parish  every  one  counts.  I  felt  that  I  looked  well, 
when  I  put  on  my  new  gray  serge,  and  took  a  survey  of 
myself  in  the  glass,  and  turned  my  head  first  one  way, 
then  another,  to  get  a  good  view  of  the  soft  pink  roses 
on  my  chip  hat.  I  looked  well,  and  certainly  Meg,  with 
her  bright,  sunshiny  face,  and  Flo,  in  her  calm,  serene 
beauty,  would  go  a  very  long  way  towards  making  the 
right  kind  of  impression.  But  Flo  was  entirely  uncon- 
scious of  the  interest  she  might  excite  ;  though,  as  I  gave 
her  one  glance,  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  her  looking 
more  beautiful.  I  wondered  if  her  thoughts  ever  wan- 
dered like  mine  into  all  sorts  of  speculations,  mixing  up 
the  service  strangely  and  wrongfully  with  worldly  things  ; 
but  no,  her  golden  head  was  bowed  devoutly  during  the 
prayers,  her  pure  lips  opened  only  for  the  responses,  and 
her  eyes  never  wandered  as  mine  did,  from  the  white 
haiied  clergyman  to  the  congregation,  back  to  the  cler- 
gyman, and  then  to  the  young  lady  at  the  organ,  with  her 
exquisitely  white  hands  and  faultless  dress.  Flo  had.  lof- 
ty conceptions  of  a  religious  life,  that  I  very  well  knew. 
Other  people  might  have  called,  some  of  her  fancies 
whims,  though  we  never  allowed  ourselves  to  talk  about 
such  things  ;  but  since  I  could  remember,  there  had  al- 
ways been  in  my  mind  a  certain  awe  and  deference  of 
Flo's  religious  character.  Perhnps  her  love  of  ceremo- 


50  CLOVEBLY. 

nial  was  to  be  attributed  to  that  love  for  tlie  beautiful 
that  was  an  inherent  part  of  her  nature  ;  for  simply  as 
we  had  been  brought  up,  Flo  was  the  only  one  of  the 
family  who  had  a  touch  of  ritualism  in  her.  She  couldn't 
help  it  any  more  than  she  could  her  breathing.  It  was 
as  natural  for  her  to  bow  her  head,  to  fold  her  hands  upon 
her  breast,  and  to  assume  reverential  attitudes,  which  in 
the  last  few  years  have  been  regarded  with  such  suspi- 
cion, as  it  was  for  me  to  wander  in  my  thoughts,  and  some- 
times forget  entirely  where  I  was.  In  niedisoval  days 
Flo  would  have  been  in  a  cloister  ;  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury it  was  hard  to  define  her  place.  But  it  was  of  no 
manner  of  use  to  talk  with  her  about  it,  or  try  to  per- 
suade her  into  another  way  of  thinking.  She  was  not 
argumentative,  she  was  simply  devout.  To  her  the  whole 
letter  of  the  law  was  Love,  and  she  fulfilled  it — what 
more  could  one  ask  ?  And  yet  I  saw  Mrs.  Desmond,  who 
was  churchly  to  a  degree,  and  wore  the  Thirty-nine  Ar- 
ticles as  she  wore  her  jewels — open  her  eyes  with  a  sort 
of  perplexed  stare,  when  Flo's  head  bowed  with  childlike 
reverence  at  the  sacred  name  of  the  Trinity  in  the  Glo- 
rias. Thereupon  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  not  like 
Mrs.  Desmond  at  all,  no  matter  what  the  opinion  of  the 
other  members  of  the  family  might  be.  Meg  introduced 
me  to  her  while  we  all  stood  together  in  the  porch  wait- 
ing for  carriages  to  come  around.  She  seemed  to  know 
everybody  in  church,  greeting  some  with  a  shake  of  the 
hand,  while  for  all  she  had  a  bow,  a  smile,  or  a  few 
pleasant  words.  And  yet  I  could  not  say  that  I  was 
agreeably  impressed,  therefore  it  was  Mrs.  Desmond  who 
started  the  conversation. 

'  I  was  so  sorry  not  to  fcee  you,  as  well  as  your  sisters, 
when  I  called  yesterday,'  she  began,  as  she  laid  the  tipa 


SEW   FRIENDS.  51 

of  her  lilac  gloves  upon  my  arm,  '  though  it  was  merely 
an  informal  visit.  I  am  not  at  all  conventional,  you  will 
find,  and  I  detest  formal  visiting,  my  dear.  That  is  one 
of  the  privileges  the  country  gives  us — freedom  in  every- 
thing. I  hope  you  like  your  new  home  ?  ' 

I  said  '  Yes,  though  we  had  seen  very  little  of  it  as  yet 
— the  rain  had  kept  us  at  home,  for  one  thing.' 

'  The  rain — O  yes  ;  but  now  it  is  warm  and  lovely — 
quite  like  June,  and  the  country  will  be  charming.  And 
the  little  church,  how  do  you  like  it  ?  Perfect,  isn't  it  ? 
We  think  so.  O  Miss  Homans — excuse  me,  pray,  but  I 
waut  you  all  to  know  Miss  Homans  ;  another  acquisition 
to  our  little  parish,  Miss  Homans — Miss  Fox,  MIBS  Florilla, 
Miss  Barbara  Fox — isn't  it  delightful  ?  Only  think,  there 
are  eight  of  them.  And  we  "count  heads,"  as  children 
do,  when  we  go  into  Church  matters — O  indeed  we  do, 
Mr.  Fox  ! ' 

She  had  a  soft,  pleasant  voice ;  a  voice  that  somehow 
reminded  one  of  the  drip  of  Summer  rain,  only  that  there 
was  a  feeling  of  consciousness  about  it  that  spoiled  the 
sweetness  to  me,  and  she  rambled  on  without  waiting  for 
more  than  an  ordinary  assent  (I  fancy  a  dissent  was 
something  that  she  never  encountered  in  this  little  com- 
munity). 

'It  is  so  comforting  to  have  Church  families  settle  here; 
not  that  I'm  illiberal,  exclusive,  or  that  sort  of  thing — I'm 
very  consorvative,  Mr.  Fox,  very  conservative,'  with  a 
nice  little  off  hand  nod  to  my  father,  by  way  of  point  to 
her  remurks,  '  and  I  make  it  a  duty  to  carry  the  principle 
into  every  act  of  my  life.  Nothing  is  gained  by  extremes " 
either  way,  you  know — it  quite  upsets  everything.' 

The  youngest  Miss  Desmond,  the  one  who  presided  at 
the  oro;an,  here  bowed  to  us,  and  ventured  to  touch  her 


52  CLOVEELT. 

mother  and  say  'The  carriage  is  waiting,  mamma,'  and 
then  to  settle  herself  luxuriously  on  the  crimson  cush- 
ions, leaning  back  with  an  air  of  long  suffering  waiting, 
while  her  voluble  mamma  chatted  on. 

'Ah !  yes,  my  dear  Bella,  yes,  presently.  I  hope  wa 
shall  meet  here,  very  often,  Mr.  Fox. ' 

Father  smiled  patiently,  while  Nat  held  the  horee  by 
the  head,  who  really  looked  as  if  it  would  be  an  act  of 
Christian  charity  to  give  him  support  of  any  kind  in  view 
of  the  heat  and  the  five  people  he  was  to  amble  off  with, 
as  if  the  whole  thing  were  a  mere  feather's  weight  and 
notliing  to  speak  of.  I,  for  one,  felt  myself  growing  hot 
and  cold  by  turns,  while  the  family  ark  was  being  filled 
and  got  under  way,  but  I  could  not  escape  from  Mrs. 
Desmond,  who  had  taken  condescending  possession  of  me, 
while  she  was  saying  good-bye  to  the  others.  She  had 
lived  on  Janeway  Farm  for  such  a  length  of  time  that  it 
seemed  as  if  it  were  natural  for  her  to  regard  us  as  part 
of  her  own  domestic  economy.  I  did  not  agree  with  her 
for  one,  and  held  myself  haughtily  aloof,  but  my  hauteur 
rolled  off  the  smooth  surface  of  her  politeness  like  oil 
from  marble. 

'I  want  you  to  ride  home  with  us,'  she  said,  laying  her 
gloved  hand  lightly  on  my  arm.  'We  can  drop  you  at 
your  gate  as  well  as  not,  you  know.  That's  the  beauty  of 
only  numbering  three — the  only  beauty  about  it,  I  do  as- 
sure you.  I  do  so  like  to  see  large  families — so  comforta- 
ble, and  all  that.  But  we  always  have  an  empty  seat  to 
offer  to  a  friend,  and  it's  a  long,  dusty  walk,  in  the  sun.' 

'  Thanks,'  opening  my  suu  umbrella  as  I  spoke,  '  but  I 
walk  from  choice.  There  was  a  vacant  seat  in  our — 
hearse,'  I  said,  abruptly  breaking  the  momentary  pause. 

The  Miss  Desmonds  smiled  languidly  at  my  brusquerie, 


NEW    FBIENDS.  53 

but  the  mother  gave  my  lips  a  little  tap  with  her  fan  as 
she  put  one  foot  on  the  low  step  of  the  carnage. 

'  Don't  be  naughty  and  call  dear  old  Mr.  Jancway's 
carriage  such  a  melancholy  name.  It  was  lovely,  posi- 
tively lovely,  I  declare,  to  see  the  dear,  white-haired 
couple,  riding  around  in  that  ancient  vehicle,  with  their 
children  and  grand-children.  So  simple  and  rural,  you 
know,  and  quite  a  matter  of  choice.  He  was  a  great  fa- 
vorite of  mine,  and  a  very  well-to-do-farmer,  as  they  say 
in  these  parts.' 

'And  my  father's  uncle,'  I  added  drily. 

'Dear  me,  a  relative— I  had  no  idea;  then  your  family 
shall  have  a  double  claim  to  our  regard.  But  won't  you 
change  your  miud  and  take  the  empty  seat  ?  No  ?  So 
sorry;  good-bye  then.'  And  nodding  her  flowers  once  or 
twice,  she  stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  I  turned  to  Bob, 
who  had  been  a  silent  spectator. 

'Come  along,'  I  said  spitefully,  as  I  trailed  my  gray 
serge  in  the  dust.  '  Did  you.  ever  see  such  a  woman, 
Bob  ?  As  if  I'd  be  under  obligation  lo  her  for  a  ride  ! 
I'm  glad  I  called  the  old  one-horse  ark  a  hearse.  She'll 
know  at  lea, t  that  I'm  ashamed  of  it.  There's  comfort 
in  that.' 

'What  a  serene  frame  of  mind  for  Sunday,'  remarked 
Bob. 

'  Yes,  isn't  it  awf  ul,  and  Flo  so  tranquil  and  happy.  I 
wonder  why  Flo  and  I  are  so  unlike.' 

'  Unlike  ? '  echoed  Bob.  '  Why  Flo  is  like  none  of  us. 
I  looked  at  her  in  church  to-day ,  and  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  a  picture  of  a  saint  that  looked  more  like  a 
picture,  or  a  saint  too,  for  that  matter,  than  our  Fl^ 
when  she  bent  her  head  in  the  Gloria.  Bab,  I  wonder 
what  she  does  that  for  ? ' 


54:  CLOVEKLY. 

'She  can't  lielp  it,  Bob.  "We  never  could  understand 
it,  but  to  Flo  it  is  a  necessary  reverence.  I  believe  it  was 
a  look  that  Mrs.  Desmond  gave  her  that  made  me  dislike 
her.  She  evidently  likes  the  topmost  seat  iii  the  syna- 
gogue, where  she  can  look  over  all  our  heads,  and  work 
out  her  own  pet  schemes  of  philanthropy.  How  such  a 
woman  has  ever  been  able  to  sever  herself  from  the 
charms  of  a  city  life,  and  settle  down  permanently  in  the 
country,  are  points  left  to  the  widest  conjecture.' 

Bob  summed  it  up  in  a  few  words — that  is,  his  opinion 
of  it  : 

'  One  is  lost  in  the  city,  you  know — a  mere  atom — a 
grain  of  sand  on  the  shore  ;  while  here  one  may  be  a 
queen,'  Dei  Gratia. ' 

Perhaps,  after  all,  this  was  as  good  a  solution  of  the 
matter  as  any  othei 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   JESUIT  BKOTHEB 

Miss  Homans  called  as  soon  as  practicable,  after  our 
informal  introduction  by  Mrs.  Desmond  at  the  church 
door,  and  many  other  ladies  of  the  parish  followed  her 
example,  including  deaf  old  Mrs.  Leighton,  who  was 
lovely  in  spite  of  her  years  and  infirmities.  In  due  time 
we  returned  the  visits,  Meg  and  I  walking  about  with 
card-cases  in  our  pockets  and  parasols  in  our  hands, 
while  mother  and  Flo  drove  off  serenely  in  the  family 
ark. 

We  had  begun  right  off  to  live  an  out  of  door  existence 
in  the  fresh  moist  May,  and  all  of  that  first  lovely 
Spring  month  spent  most  of  our  time  in  finding  out 
tilings,  but  we  didn't  begin  to  understand  life  in  the  coun- 
try until  June  came,  with  its  perfumed  air,  fresh,  strong, 
and  full  of  sea  scents,  intoxicating  us  like  a  draught  of 
champagne.  In  fact,  we  drank  wine  most  of  the  time 
— home-brewed,  Atlantic  Ocean  wine.  The  blossoms 
flushed  and  paled  upon  the  fruit  trees  in  the  orchard  be- 
hind the  house,  white  petals  drifted  everywhere  like 
snow  flakes,  the  perfume  of  the  garden  stole  up  to  our 
open  windows  with  the  morning  dews  to  baptize  it,  the 
bluebirds  flashed  from  bough  to  bough,  and  the  robins 
chirped  familiarly  almost  in  our  faces,  with  an  air  of  say- 
ing 'Well,  what  do  you  think  of  us,  and  what  have  you 
to  say  against  the  country  now  ? '  I  hadn't  anything  to 
say,  of  course, — that  is  to  them, — but  I  watched  them, 
wheeling  and  rollicking  in  the  glad  sunshine,  as  if  their 
life  were  one  long  quadrille,  chasseing  in  and  out  of  the 


56  CLOVEELY. 

budding  branches,  making  '  ladies  chains '  and  '  dos-a- 
dos,'  or  performing  half  tipsy  jigs  on  the  rocking  tips 
of  the  twigs,  and  I  couldn't  help  calling  out  '  Meg  !  Meg  ! 
even  in  May  our  poem  has  begun,  and  the  birds  are  sing- 
ing it  for  us,  not  waiting  for  the  words  to  be  written 
down.'  That  was  the  feeling  that  came  to  me.  My  heart 
seemed  very  full,  and  a  sudden  sense  of  pleasantness  in 
living,  stole  upon  me. 

We  saw  the  Spring  coquet  with  Summer,  the  sunshine 
growing  stronger  each  day,  until  June  in  all  its  glory 
burst  upon  us.  We  loitered  through  the  woods,  bright 
with  robes  of  gauzy  green,  recklessly  treading  down  blue- 
eyed  violets  and  daisies,  while  every  breath  we  drew  seem- 
ed a  growth  of  soul  and  body  in  God's  beautiful  world  of 
light  and  love.  People  miss  just  one-half  of  life  who 
never  see  all  this  !  Everything  is  so  thoroughly  equal  to 
the  occasion.  Even  the  grass  under  our  feet  struggled  up 
instinct  with  life  of  some  kind.  If  we  overturned  a  stone, 
a  whole  family  of  wriggling,  mouse-colored  atoms  were 
surprised  in  an  active  state  of  unrest,  legs  and  arms  all  go- 
ing like  so  many  microscopic  windmills  ;  if  we  peeped  in 
a  dusky  bash,  we  heard  a  chirp,  saw  a  flash  of  yellow 
throats,  and  knew  '  somebody's  mother  '  was  expected,  if 
strangers  were  not.  Bugs  and  gauzy  winged  insects  were 
alert  even  in  the  most  silent  nooks,  and  sober  brown 
beetles  crawled  out  on  the  warm  sandy  ledges,  while  the 
birds  about  us  seemed  in  a  perpetual  state  of  self-grat- 
ulation,  in  that  they  were  alive  and  the  sun  shone. 
Everything  panted,  stirred,  lived,  and  breathed  in  a  sort 
of  golden  ecstasy.  Bob  put  our  combined  thought,  or 
rather  our  hardly  denned  thought,  into  words  : 

'I'm  going  to  leave  off  saying  I'm  seventeen,'  he  an- 
nounced. '  I'm  just  going  to  begin  life  here,  and  this  is 


THE   JESUIT   BROTHER.  57 

my  first  birthday.  You'll  all  please  remember,  I'm  go- 
ing to  go  back  and  begin  over. '  And  that  is  what  we  all 
felt  like  doing,  though  we  didn't  put  it  in  Bob's  own 
words. 

I  know  that  I,  for  one,  tried  my  best  to  begin  all  over. 
I  loved  the  country,  and  I  was  not  ashamed  to  say  so.  I 
loved  the  farm,  the  beautiful  slopes  of  meadow,  and  the 
woods  that  we  were  constantly  exploring  ;  above  all,  the 
great,  wonderful  ocean,  charmed  me  with  its  mysterious 
utterances  and  awful  power.  In  my  changed  mood  I 
even  forgot  my  former  hostility  to  the  black  vehicle  that 
I  had  dubbed  a  hearse,  and  allowed  myself  to  occupy  a 
seat  within  its  funereal  depths  while  Bob  or  Nat  drove  us 
about  to  see  the  country  ;  and  I  took  perfect  delight  in 
the  phaeton  and  superannuated  colt  that  Uncle  Janeway 
had  left  for  our  use.  Also  I  had  fits  of  great  activity,  up 
in  my  garret  stiidio,  and  at  such  seasons  would  work  my- 
self into  a  fine  state  of  enthusiasm  over  the  marine  view 
that  I  was  secretly  attempting  to  reproduce.  I  was  oblig- 
ed to  work  the  problem  out  alone,  however,  as  a  teacher 
could  not  be  found  near  us,  and  knowing  the  family  ten- 
dency to  ridicule,  I  kept  my  embryo  efforts  to  myself. 
With  me  art  was  a  passion,  but  it  was  also  a  secret.  Only 
to  my  dearest  Meg,  from  whom  I  could  keep  nothing, 
did  I  dare  to  whisper  the  hopes  which  my  fcncy  spread 
before  me.  I  hid  it  from  all  else,  as  the  striped  squirrel 
in  the  old  butternut  tree  hid  his  nucs,  only  indulging  in 
a  private  nibble  when  I  was  alone.  But  alas  !  there  was 
only  one  time  when  I  rose  to  the  height  of  a  true  artist, 
and  that  was  at  night — in  my  dreams.  With  magical 
brushes  I  painted  rare  and  irnpossi^e  distances,  soft  sea 
mists,  stretches  of  foamy  shingle,  and  clear,  translucent 
depths  of  blue.  Only  in  dreams  did  I  realize  my  vague 


58  CLOVEULY. 

longings — only  in  dreams  did  I  work  out  the  poem  I 
was  never  abla  to  utter. 

It  was  no  longer  balmy  weather  in  my  garret  studio, 
bub  decidedly  close  and  stifling,  yet  I  worked  on  diligent- 
ly in  the  early  morning,  without  the  faintest  perception 
that  I,  like  most  young  girls,  was  caricaturing  art  in  my 
blissful  simplicity.  Bob  opened  my  eyes  one  day,  when 
he  strolled  into  my  den,  and  before  I  could  secrete  my 
picture,  offered  the  following  advice  : 

'Bab,  put  on  your  hat,  you  .-illy  old  dreamer,  and  come 
and  look  at  the  element  you  are  trying  so  hard  to  torture 
into  waves.  Why,  if  I. were  Neptune,  I'd  bring  an  ac- 
tion against  you  for  libel. ' 

'  Then  I  am  glad  you  are  simply  Bob  Fox,'  I  said,  swal- 
lowing my  mortification,  and  fidgeting  with  my  palette 
knife. 

'  Come,  scrape  up  your  colors,  and  let  fame  go  to  the 
dogs,  Bab.  You  might  as  well  give  it  up,  and  go  out 
with  us  to  the  woods.' 

'  I  wont ! '  I  said  desperately.  Yet  I  saw  for  myself, 
without  his  aid,  the  hard  lines,  the  opaque  color,  the  ut- 
ter absence  of  transparency — and  I  could  have  cried  with 
vexation. 

'  I  have  a  great  mind  to  nib  my  brush  over  it,  and 
never  try  again,'  I  said  vehemently,  as  I  stepped  back 
and  surveyed  my  many  days'  toil. 

'  No,  no  ;  don't  do  it.  You  are  tired  now,  and  awfully 
vexed  with  me.  Come  out,  my  charmer,  and  forget  all 
about  it.  We've  got  umbrellas  and  baskets,  and  we  'ra 
going  to  pilfer  all  the  flowers  we  can,  for  the  festival 
to-morrow.  Let's  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone — have  :i 
jolly  good  holiday,  and  help  the  Sunday-school.  I 
wont  enjoy  it  half  as  much  if  you  are  not  along,  Bab, 


THE   JESUIT   BROTHER.  59 

and  you  are  just  roasting  yourself  to  death  in  this  hot 
garret. ' 

'  Don't  tell  any  one,  Bobby,  that  I  was  trying  to  paint 
this  libel,  then  ?' 

'Never  a  word — trust  me.' 

'  Then  I  wont  keep  you  a  minute,'  I  uttered  gleefully. 
'  I'll  drop  my  palette  in  a  basin  of  cold  water,  and  be  with 
you  in  a  twinkling.  Is  Meg  going  ? ' 

'  Meg  ?  of  course.  Mistress  Meg  wont  stir  a  peg,  un- 
less you  join  the  crowd,  ma'am,'  he  sing.  'We  march 
six  strong,  so  come  along — Barbara,  would  you  be  kiud 
enough  to  compose  andther  line  for  me  ? ' 

'  Nonsense  ! '  I  said.  '  Bob,  is  there  any  paint  on  my 
face  ? ' 

'  Only  a  daub  of  Prussian  blue  on  your  nose.  I  wouldn't 
take  it  off.  It's  becoming,  and  shows  you're  an  artist. 
You  know  they're  all  waiting,  I  suppose.' 

I  ran  down  stairs  rubbing  my  nose  all  the  way,  and- 
found  them  on  the  piazza,  Meg  and  Flo  with  baskets  on 
their  arms  and  scissors  hanging  to  their  girdles.  The 
children  were  not  only  to  have  their  Trinity  Festival,  on. 
the  morrow,  but  it  was  also  expected  that  the  new  Assis- 
tant would  make  his  appearance,  and  there  was  quite  a 
flutter  of  preparation  in  consequence. 

'Bab,  your  nose  is  the  color  of  indigo,'  Meg  announc- 
ed, 'and  your  hands  look  as  if  they  hadn't  touched  water 
in  a  week.  Pray  let  me  ask,  are  you  going  in  your  war 
paint,  like  a  savage  ? ' 

'  Why,  to  be  sure;  who  will  see  me  up  in  those  woods  ? 
I  need  not  stop  to  beautify  myself  for  such  an  excursion,' 
I  explained,  as  I  tied  my  broad-brimmed  hat  under  my 
chin,  and  caught  up  the  lunch  basket. 

'  Flo  will  save  us  from  disrepute,  if  we  meet  any  of  the 


60  CLOVERLY. 

aborigines,'  she  agreed,  and  then  we  took  up  our  line  of 
march.  Bob  acted  as  pioneer,  while  Bess  danced  along 
by  his  side,  he  making  a  trombone  out  of  his  umbrella, 
upon  which  he  discoursed  the  most  ear-piercing  music 
as  we  marched  past  the  sitting-room  window  waving  a 
good-bye  to  mother.  Nat  arid  Flo  followed  arm  in  arm, 
for  Flo  was  not  strong,  and  some  way  Nat  always  offered 
her  that  mark  of  deference,  just  as  he  did  to  mother. 
Meg  and  I  loitered  a  little  behind,  as  I  had  my  tribula- 
tions of  the  morning  to  impart  to  her,  and  receive  my 
usual  amount  of  comfort  and  encouragement  in  return. 

I  wonder  if  I  could  ever  exist  without  Meg  ?  It  seems 
to  me  that  I  would  be  just  nothing  at  all  without  her  ad- 
vice and  sympathy.  Her  life  goes  in  and  out  with  mine 
like  a  piece  of  mosaic,  and  if  one  of  the  blocks — no  mat- 
ter how  tiny — were  to  be  left  out,  the  whole  thing  would 
be  spoiled.  It  seems  strange  that  it  should  be  so,  for 
Meg  is  always  practical,  quiet  and  full  of  common-sense, 
where  I  am  all  theory  and  guesswork.  It  helps  make  up 
the  perfect  block,  though,  she  says  with  a  smile,  but  it  is 
the  symmetry  of  her  lines  that  hide  the  ugly,  uneven 
edges  of  mine.  I  know  it,  though  she  wont  allow  it— 
my  dear,  practical,  so  many  years  older  sister. 

So  I  unburdened  my  heart  to  Meg  as  we  followed  Bob, 
who  led  the  way  with  a  step  so  swift  that  it  was  as  much 
as  we  could  do  to  keep  him  in  sight.  We  made  our  way 
as  best  we  could  up  the  slope,  back  of  the  house,  to  the 
pine  wood  skirting  the  cliff.  A  narrow  foot  path  wound 
among  the  tall  trees,  only  a  few  yards  from  the  edge  of 
the  cliff ;  and  once  there,  we  had  an  unobstructed  view  of 
the  great  ocean  swaying  beneath  our  feet,  a  translucent 
blue  melf ing  into  purple  far  away  on  the  horizon.  We 
paused  a  moment  to  look  back  at  tho  white  farinhouso 


THE   JESUIT    BROTHER.  61 

nestling  among  the  spreading  trees,  and  Nat  said,  point- 
ing toward  it, 

'  What  a  sweet  old  place  it  is  already — our  dear  old 
Cleverly.' 

That  was  the  name  mother  had  given  the  place.  We 
called  it  one  of  her  inspirations.  Father  and  the  boys 
were  to  be  the  busy  bees  in  this  our  little  clover  patch, 
and  the  honey  when  they  had  stored  it  up — why,  the 
honey  was  to  be  divided  among  us  all.  Somehow  we  felt 
as  if  we  were  having  the  honey  beforehand — not  waiting 
for  the  hot  mid-Summer  when  it  should  be  gathered  in. 
We  were  a  happy  family  then — yes,  and  we  are  now, 
though  the  shadows  lie  softly,  jnst  like  the  sunshine  on 
the  meadows — no  matter  how  fair  thWday,  the  shadows 
are  there — and  so,  though  they  have  fallen  between  that 
time  and  this,  we  only  half  feel  their  gloom,  for  we  are 
happy,  though  we  sometimes  smile  through  a  mist  of  tears. 

We  stop  to  rest  in  a  sort  of  glade,  where  the  trees  arch- 
ing overhead  made  a  long  dim  walk,  beyond  which  we 
could  see  the  glint  of  the  sea. 

'  It  is  like  going  to  church,'  I  said  under  my  breath, 
for  there  was  a  solemn  glory  about  the  place  that  after- 
noon, with  the  long  swaths  of  sunlight  gleaming  athwart 
the  trees  and  making  still  darker  by  contrast  the  quiet 
walk  that  lay  between. 

'  It  is  more  like  a  great  cathedral  aisle, '  said  Nat,  in- 
voluntarily taking  off  his  hat,  and  looking  up  at  the  inter- 
lacing boughs.  '  It  makes  one  think  of  Horace  Smith, 
and  his 

"  Fane  most  catholic  and  solemn 
That  God  has  planned." 

I  think  I  shall  like  coming  here.     Wont  you,  Flo  ? ' 
'  It  is  just  the  place  to  bring  Thomas  &  Kempis,  and 


62  CLOVEIILY. 

read  it  all  alone  by  one's  self,'  with  a  quick  glance  up  at 
him.  '  "We  will  call  it  the  Cathedral  Walk,  dear,  and  I 
shall  love  it  above  all  the  places  around  here,  I  know.' 

'  It  can't  begin  with  the  view  a  little  farther  on,'  shout- 
ed Bob,  with  a  wave  of  his  cap.  '  Don't  stand  there  in 
that  gloomy  place,  but  come  out  this  way.  Here's  a  feast 
for  you,  Bab.  Here's  a  real  ocean  for  you  to  spoon  over. 
There  !  stand  just  where  Flo  does,  and  you'll  get  it,'  point- 
ing with  his  forefinger.  '  Did  you  ever  see  anything 
like  it  before  in  all  your  life  ?  ' 

'  Never,'  we  all  said  with  one  breath,  and  then  sat 
down  to  enjoy  it  in  silence. 

Flo  walked  dowii  nearly  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  and 
putting  one  arm  around" the  stem  of  a  scaiTed  old  cedar, 
looked  out  from  under  her  long  slender  hand,  as  she 
shaded  her  eyes  from  the  bright  light. 

'  O  !  perfect ! '  she  said  :  not  suddenly,  but  with  a  slow 
dwelling  on  the  words,  as  if  words  but  poorly  expressed 
it  after  all.  .  Flo's  voice  was  peculiar  and  beautiful.  In 
it  lay  a  world  of  power.  She  never  spoke  loudly  or  au- 
thoritatively, yet  in  the  wildest  uproar  we  always  heard 
it,  and  stopped  to  listen  ;  it  was  so  like  a  steady  chime  in 
the  midst  of  jangling  bells.  And  then  she  always  felt 
things  so  much.  I  saw  the  s:inshine  deepen  on  her  face, 
and  the  flash  of  quick  delight  in  her  eyes,  though  she 
never  said  anything  but  just  '  oh  !  perfect ! '  with  a  sort 
of  holding  in  of  her  breath  ;  but  Bess  took  up  the  thought 
that  Flo  had  only  expressed  in  a  look. 

'  It's  just  as  if  we  had  died  and  waked  up  in  Paradise, 
isn't  it  sister  ? '  she  asked  softly,  creeping  nearer  to  Flo. 

Flo  smiled,  and  patted  the  golden  head  nestling  against 
her  shoulder. 

'I  want  to  feel  nearer  to  God   every  d:iy  that  T  live,' 


THE   JESUIT    BHOTHER.  63 

.'  he  said  with  lier  eyes  fixed  dreamily  upon  the  sea,  '  and 
I  think  He  will  seem  so  close  to  me  here.' 

'  I  wish  I  were  more  like  you,  Flo,'  interrupted  Bob, 
switching  the  grass  with  a  limp  mullen  stalk.  'Now  it 
just  looked  jolly  to  me,  and  made  me  want  to  shout  and 
climb  the  trees  and  go  in  for  the  goodiest  kind  of  a  time; 
and  it  makes  you  feel  more  like  praying  than  anything 
else,  I  do  believe.  I  declare,  I  never  thought  of  it.  I 
wish  I  conld  be  religious  just  for  once,  to  see  how  it 
seemed.' 

'Why,  Kobin,'  said  Bess,  in  a  little  surprised  whisper, 
'you  are  religious,  aren't  you?  I  am  sure  I've  always 
thought  you  were  a  very,  very  good  boy.  I  never  heard 
you  say  a  wicked  thing  in  my  life,  though  you  tease  ns 
awfully  sometimes,  but  yoa  go  to  church  and  Sunday- 
school—' 

'  Thank  you,  mum,'  said  Bob.  with  a  grimace.  '  It's  a 
werry  consoling  thought  that  somebody  appreciates  me. 
I'd  like  to  be  a  little  surer,  though,  that  I  am  worth  it. 
But  if  you  want  flowers,  we  must  not  sit  here  idling  all 
day.' 

'  We  can  come  back  and  lunch  in  our  Cathedral  Walk, 
Flo  dear,  and  gaze  our  fill,  if  you  like  it  so  much,'  said 
Nut  ;  '  but  now  let  us  find  that  mythical  bank  that  Bob 
would  have  us  believe  is  all  ready  for  us,  "  covered  with 
eglantine,  moss,  and  rose."  Lead  the  way,  Bob.' 

We  picked  up  our  baskets  and  loitered  a  little  long- 
er on  the  top  of  the  cliff. 

'What  a  beautiful  world  it  is,'  said  Meg,  'now  we 
are  where  we  can  see  something  of  it.  We  only  read  and 
thought  about  it  before  we  came  here  to  live.' 

Yes,  it  really  did  seem  like  a  little  world.  There  to 
our  right  lay  the  city  we  had  so  lately  left,  with  a  soft 


64  CLOVERLY. 

hazy  cloud  resting  close  over  it — very  faint,  far  off,  ami  too 
minute  to  pick  out  anything  except  general  outline,  but 
more  like  a  picture  to  be, looked  at  through,  a  stereoscope 
— then  green  islands  dotting  the  deep  blue — a  close  white 
line  of  sand  girdling  it  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other,  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  nothing  but  sea  and  sky. 

Then  we  went  back  into  the  woods,  \ip  and  down 
among  the  cedars  and  scrub  oaks,  treading  nameless 
mystical  odors  under  foot,  and  absolutely  revelling  in 
the  warmth  and  beauty  of  the  day.  It  was  so  lovely  that 
we  could  not  settle  down  to  the  mere  gathering  of  wild 
flowers.  Bob  called  it  a  playing  truant  day — a  day  when 
we  all  felt  that  we  had  run  away  from  scbool.  There  was 
so  much  to  see,  and  the  whole  world  seemed  spread  be- 
fore us,  as  much  as  to  say  '  Take  any  path  you  choose, 
my  dears — it  all  lies  here  before  you.'  At  least  that  is  the 
way  I  interpreted  the  message,  and  Bob  and  I  generally 
read  those  things  alike.  Meg  and  Flo  absorbed  the 
sweetness  more  quietly;  and  to  Flo  I  think  there  were 
words  of  deeper  import,  spoken — a  whispered  '  come  up 
higher' — as  she  stood  looking  and  dreaming  out  upon 
the  sea. 

After  a  little  we  went  back  to  the  shady  quiet  place 
which  Nat  insisted  upon  naming  the  Cathedral  Walk,  of 
which  we  all  thoroughly  approved.  We  found  ourselves 
seats  under  the  arching  trees,  Meg  opened  the  baskets, 
and  we  lunched  as  merrily  as  if  it  were  the  richest  feast 
spread  before  us.  Then,  without  wasting  another  mo- 
ment in  loitering  and  finding  out  views,  we  went  back 
into  the  woods,  cutting  wild  flowers,  and  filling  our  bas- 
kets with  everything  pretty  in  that  way  that  we  coul-.l 
find. 

'  Somebody  has  been  here  before  us,'  said  Meg  su.lden- 


THE   JESUIT    BHOTHER.  65 

ly.  '  The  flowers  are  all  gone,  Bob,  and  there  were  plen- 
ty, you  said,  yesterday  when  you  reconnoitered. ' 

'  That's  true,'  said  Bob.  '  Perhaps  somebody  has  been 
thinking  of  the  Sunday-school  as  well  as  ourselves.  Sup- 
pose we  be  content  with  going  home  and  stripping  the 
garden.  There's  all  the  roses  along  the  side  of  the 
hedge.' 

'  My  poor  roses  !'  said  Nat.  '  "Well,  I'll  give  you  half 
of  them.  I'm  sure  I  can  afford  to  be  generous,  after  this 
lovely  day.' 

We  strolled  through  the  meadows  back  of  the  farm, 
gathering  violets  and  wood  anemones,  stopping  to  rest 
occasionally  under  the  shade  of  a  tree,  finally  reaching 
Nat's  rose  walk,  a  perfect  mass  of  roses  of  every  hue  and 
size,  that  ran  along  one  side  of  the  trim  hedge  bordering 
the  road.  Meg  and  Flo  pulled  out  their  scissors  and 
went  to  work  clipping  with  a  will,  judiciously  selecting 
the  buds,  and  leaving  the  fully  opened  flowers  to  gladden 
Nat's  eyes  for  a  brief  space  of  time.  I  threw  off  my  hat, 
sat  down  on  the  grass,  and  began  making  curls  out  of 
dandelion  stems  to  hang  upon  my  ears  and  in  my  dis- 
hevelled head,  while  Bob  stretched  himself  at  full  length 
by  my  side,  tilted  his  hat  on  his  face  and  went  to  sleep, 
or  made  a  feint  of  doing  so. 

Just  then  a  voice  sounded  over  the  hedge,  pleasantly 
enough  I  must  confess, 

'  I  beg  pardon,  ladies,  but  if  I  might  be  so  bold,  may  I 
beg  a  few  roses  for  the  Trinity  Festival,  to-morrow  ? ' 

We  all  started  and  turned  quickly  around  ;  and  Flo, 
who  is  usually  slow  and  deliberate  in  all  "her  movements, 
spoke  first,  bowing  slightly  to  the  head  and  shoulders 
towering  above  the  arbor  vitae  hedge,  with  her  quiet  air 
of  dignity. 


65  CLOYERLY. 

'  These  are  for  the  Trinity  Festival,  sir.  We  are  gath- 
ering them  for  our  own  scholars.' 

'I  beg  pardon  again,' and  with  another  lifting  of  the 
hat  he  was  gone. 

4  Now  who  upon  earth  is  that  ?  '  I  said,  starting  tip 
the  minute  the  vision  had  disappeared. 

'I  can't  imagine,' said  Meg,  'perhaps  some  friend  of 
Mr.  Leighton's.  He  must  be  a  clergyman,  from  his 
dress,  and  he  must  be  staying  somewhere  in  the  village, 
for  he  spoke  of  the  festival  as  if  he  were  interested. ' 

'He  is  very  handsome,'  said  little  Bess,  who,  with  her 
arms  full  of  flowers,  had  been  an  open-eyed  spectator, 
never  saying  a  word  until  now. 

'  Nonsense  ! '  I  cried.  '  I  don't  think  he's  handsome 
at  all.  A  young  fellow  like  that,  with  not  the  sign  of  a 
moustache,  and  hair  that  looks  like  pulled-molasses 
candy.  A  young  theolog,  who  thinks  he  knows  in  or  a 
than  the  Bishop—at  the  best  a  deacon,  I  suppose.' 

'I  thought  it  an  interesting  face,' said  Flo,  dropping 
the  roses  softly  in  Bessie's  basket. 

'You  mean  an  interesting  dress,  Flo,'  I  laughed.  'An 
Anglican  coat,  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  a  white  necktie — I 
think  you'd  succumb  to  anything  that  wore  that.  Sup- 
pose he  should  turn  out  to  be  a  Jesuit  Brother,  looking 
around  for  an  eligible  site  for  a  new  college?  I  shouldn't 
wonder  a  bit.' 

'  He  would  begin  his  mission  with  us  right  away,'  said 
Meg.  '  He  must  have  thought  we  were  direct  from  Fiji. 
Look  at  that  nose,  if  you  please  !  You  know  I  told  you 
to  wash  it,  Bab. ' 

'  My  nosa  ?  I  declare,  I  forgot !  Blue  as  an  indigo 
bag,  I  suppose,  and  my  fa.ce  red  as  a  flamingo,  in  this 
sun.  What  must  he  think  ! '  as  I  covered  up  the  unfor- 


THE   JEStTIT   BROTHER.  67 

fcunate  organ  with  a  pair  of  hand  j  that  were  anything  but 
immaculate. 

Who  could  he  be,  and  what  did  he  think  of  a  young 
woman  in  disordered  attire,  hair  blown  wildly  about  the 
face,  and  looking  like  a  Medusa,  with  dandelion  stems,  a 
blue  nose,  and  hands  that  were  every  hue  that  paint, 
dirt,  and  vegetable  matter  could  make  them  ?  The  girls 
cut  flowers  a  little  longer  while  I  sat  in  painful  silence 
rogaiding  my  unfortunate  digits,  and  then  Flo  said, 

'  I  wonder  if  he  will  be  at  church  to-morrow.  We 
must  remember  and  look.' 

'  What !  the  Jesuit  Brother  again  I  There  don't  seem 
to  be  much  danger  of  your  forgetting  him,'  I  said, 
crossly. 

'  I  wouldn't  wonder  it  it  were  the  new  Assistant,  after 
all,'  Nat  put  in. 

'O  no  ! '  said  Meg,  '  he  was  too  young.' 

'  O  no  ! '  echoed  I ;  '  he  is  a  priest  just  in  orders,  come 
up  here  to  investigate  our  household  and  inquire  into  the 
characters  of  our  servants,  and  see  how  much  money  he 
can  raise  on  their  wages  for  a  new  college.  You  can  al- 
ways tell  a  Brother,  even  if  he  don't  wear  a  cassock 
reaching  to  his  very  heels.  I'm  going  ahead  to  warn 
mother.' 

' Take  your  time,  Bab,'  advised  Nat  laughingly.  'He 
has  farther  to  walk  around  by  the  road  than  we  have  ;  be- 
side, I  noticed  he  went  on  toward  the  village,  and  you'd 
have  your  hurry  for  nothing. ' 

Flo  said  '  What  an  absurd  idea,'  and  then  her  scissors 
were  snipping  among  the  rosebushes  and  tall  geraniums 
again — a  little  faster  than  usual  this  time  ;  the  baskets 
were  declared  full,  and  we  all  walked  up  tho  gravel  path, 
a  little  weary  with  our  picnicing. 


88  CLOVERLY. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  we  were  tying  bouquets  and 
wreaths,  and  Flo  made  an  exquisite  shepherd's  cixok  for 
the  Hector's  class,  which  was  called  the  Sheepfold.  It 
was  three  or  four  feet  long,  and  from  the  handle  to  the 
point  of  the  crook  was  one  mass  of  scarlet  and  white  flow- 
ers. She  sent  it  up  by  Bob  in  the  evening,  with  many 
an  injunction  to  carry  it  carefully,  and  to  tell  Mrs. 
Leighton  to  put  it  in  a  cool  place  and  keep  it  well 
sprinkled. 

'  Poor  Flo  !  she  looked  quite  pale  and  tired  when  all 
the  garlanding  was  over,  and  mother  insisted  upon  her 
going  to  bed  very  early  in  order  to  be  equal  to  the  work 
of  the  morrow  ;  for  Flo,  without  being  sick,  was  the  del- 
icate one  of  our  family,  and  father  hoped  everything 
from,  the  change  to  country  air  for  her.  She  looked  pale 
enough,  however,  when  the  morning  came,  but  insisted 
it  was  only  the  heat  of  the  day  before  that  had  prostrated 
her.  As  she  stood  in  front  of  the  glass  dressing  for  the 
festival,  while  the  church  bells  chimed  faintly  in  the  dis- 
tance, I  thought  that  if  I  were  really  and  truly  the  artist 
that  I  longed  to  be,  I  would  paint  her  for  a  St.  Agues,  or 
Cecilia,  or  indeed  any  other  Saint  in  the  calendar  whose 
face  might  have  been  only  half  as  pure,  holy,  and  peace- 
ful as  hers.  I  wonder  if  I  could  be  as  restful  and  full  of 
peace  if  I  tried- ever  and  ever  so  hard  ;  or  does  such  rest 
only  come  to  those  who  wait  and  watch  and  pray  for  the 
blessing  ?  I  could  wait  until  I  were  old,  very  old,  if  only 
it  would  come  then.  But  will  it  ever  come  to  me  after  all 
the  waiting,  the  craving,  and  the  pain  ?  Sometimes  I  do 
KO  long  for  the  real  inner  spirit  of  this  peace — a  calm  like 
the  under  current  of  the  ocean,  stiil  and  deep,  and  never 
troubled  by  the  restless  tossing  of  the  upper  water.  Yes, 
I  wish  I  wei'e  just  like  Flo. 


THE   JESUIT    BROTHER.  69 

We  Imrried  off  to  church  to  find  it  half -full  of  people, 
and  with  some  difficulty  were  squeezed  into  front  seats 
near  the  chancel.  The  first  object  that  I  saw  was  our 
friend'  of  the  day  before,  the  Jesuit  Brother,  as  I  had 
called  him,  not  in  deacon's  robes,  but  in  full  vestments, 
Tvalk  into  the  chancel  with  two  other  clergymen,  one  oi 
whom  was  Mr.  Leighton,  of  course.  I  stole  a  glance  at 
Flo  to  give  her  warning  of  the  approach  of  her  destiny, 
but  my  meaning  looks  were  all  lost.  Not  so  with  Bess, 
however.  She  had  knelt  upon  the  cushion,  but  lifted  hei 
head,  nodded,  said  '  There's  your  Jesuit !'  disclosing  hei 
two  even  rows  of  white  teeth,  then  dropped  her  head 
again  in  her  Lands  as  if  she  had  been  committing  an 
enormity. 

I  leaned  over  and  whispered  in  Plo's  ear  '  He's  he  e, 
but.  upon  my  word,  he  isn't  even  a  deacon  !  Did  you 
ever  see  the  like  of  that  ?'  But  Flo  only  pressed  my  arm 
with  a  warning  '  How  can  you,  Barbara  !'  and  then  her 
golden  head  was  bowed,  and  her  pure  thoughts  were  away 
with  God.  I  saw  her  color  up  to  the  temples,  though, 
when  she  rose  from  her  knees,  and  the  flush  did  not  die 
away  in  a  long  time.  She  certainly  had  never  looked 
more  beautiful  as  she  stood  at  the  head  of  her  long  class 
of  girls,  her  cheeks  rosy,  her  eyes  downcast,  her  face  so 
shy,  so  sweet,  so  devout.  And  I  saw  the  Jesuit  Brother's 
eyes  tura  to  her  many  a  time.  I  think  the  picture  was 
as  interesting  a  study  to  him  as  to  me,  although  he  pro- 
fessed to  be  so  deeply  interested  in  the  prayers  and  siug- 
ing. 

I  never  liked  Sunday-school  or  Sunday-school  children, 
BO  the  f  stival  amounted  to  very  little  with  me.  I  went 
more  to  see  who  the  stranger  should  prove  to  be,  as  well 


70 


CLOYERLY. 


as  to  show  him  an  immaculate  nose,  and  a  pair  of  Lancia 
covered  with,  pale  gray  kid — two  buttons — Alexanders 
best  at  that.  But  it  all  went  for  nothing.  I  v,-as  perfect- 
ly convinced  that  he  never  once  glanced  toward  the  cor- 
ner where  I  sat. 

I  should  never  be  anything  but  a  blue-nosed  myth  to 
Mm,  that  was  certain. 


CHAPTEK  VH. 

MAKING  AN  IMPRESSION. 

On3  morning,  soon  after  tlie  festival,  when  it  was  early 
and  cool,  Miss  Desmond  and  her  friend  Netta  Homans 
rode  over  on  their  pretty,  long-tailed  ponies,  to  invite  us 
to  a  garden  party  the  next  day  at  Mrs.  Desmond's.  I 
saw  them  cantering  down  the  lane,  from  my  studio  win- 
dow, and  drew  back  in  time  to  avoid  a  bow,  for  I  looked 
particularly  awful  on  that  morniug,  having  hurried  up 
stairs  the  instant  breakfast  was  dispatched,  to  clear  up 
and  take  a  fresh  start  on  a  new  canvas. 

I  ran  down  to  inform  Meg,  who  was  rushing  through  our 
rooms  like  a  feminine  Attila,  making  a  raid  upon  the  dust 
and  flies  simultaneously;  so  Flo,  as  usual,  was  the  one  to 
walk  oat  on  the  piazza,  and  chat  with  the  young  ladies. 
Everybody  has  his  or  her  own  particular  gift,  and  if  it 
was  Meg's  to  ba  all  smiles  and  sunshine,  it  was  also  Flo's 
to  be  serene  and  ready  for  any  emergency.  No  matter 
what  time  of  day  any  one  called,  she  was  sure  to  be  a 
miracle  of  propriety  and  self-possession,  in  the  most  per- 
fect of  dainty  dresses,  with  fresh  frills  at  throat  and 
wrists,  and  her  pale  yellow  hair  like  strands  of  braided 
gold  above  her  calm  forehead.  And  nothing  disturbed 
this  repose  and  serenity.  I  believe  it  was  part  of  her  re- 
ligion to  be  always  ready.  Therefore,  on  a  busy  morn- 
ing, she  was  the  one  to  receive  a  stray  visitor,  or  do  an 
errand  in  the  village,  when  mother  was  in  a  hurry  for 
something  that  didn't  admit  of  delay,  to  change  my  dfess, 
or  Meg  to  smooth  out  her  refractory  hair.  If  I  painted 
in  my  garret  studio,  I  generally  contrived  to  absorb  au 


72  CLOVEKLY. 

undue  amount  of  coloring  matter,  to  say  nothing  of  sur- 
plus oil  and  turpentine.  The  general  feeling  in  the  fami- 
ly, was  one  of  relief  if  I  prudently  kept  out  of  the  way 
during  these  art-frenzies,  and  a  garret  was  as  good  a  place 
for  me  to  hide  my  shortcomings  in,  I  argued,  as  a  con- 
vent. 

Miss  Desmond  delivered  her  invitation,  to  which  Meg 
and  I  listened,  making  our  remarks  behind  the  green 
blinds,  as  we  looked  down  upon  the  group.  Flo  accept- 
ed conditionally.  There  was  always  mother's  consent  to 
gain,  for  Flo  clung  to  her  little  girlish  ways  of  abiding 
by  mother's  decision  in  everything. 

'Your  sisters  and  your  two  brothers,  Miss  Fox,' we 
heard  her  say.  '  You  have  two  brothers,  have  you  not  ?' 

'As  if  she  didn't  see  Nat  holding'  our  horse  by  the 
head,  that  first  Sunday  we  were  in  church,'  I  whispered  ; 
whereupon  Meg  gave  me  a  pinch  ou  the  arm,  aud  said 
'  Bo  keep  quiet ;  I  can't  hear  a  thing.' 

Flo  looked  very  pretty  in  her  white  cambric  morning 
dress  and  blue  necktie,  as  she  stood  on  the  lower  step  of 
the  piazza  shading  her  eyes  with  one  slender  hand — ever 
so  much  prettier  than  those  fine  young  ladies  on  horse- 
back ;  and  I  know  that  they  thought  so  too,  for  both 
their  faces  expressed  genuine  admiration.  They  were 
full  of  bright,  pleasant  chat,  and  any  one  to  look  at  the 
group,  would  not  have  dreamed  that  Flo  had  just  step- 
ped out  from  the  parlor  which  she  had  carefully  dusted 
with  a  pair  of  Nat's  old  gloves  upon  her  hands,  and  a  cal- 
ico apron  that  she  had  untied  and  put  in  a  closet  with 
the  gloves  when  she  saw  from  the  half-opened  blinds  the 
two  girls,  and  heard  the  clatter  of  the  horses'  hoofs  upon 
the  gravel. 

'You  are  changing  things  hero  somewhat,' Miss  Des- 


MAKING   AX    IMPRESSION.  73 

mond  remarked,  pointing  -with  her  riding-whip  to  the 
large  circle  with  the  white  vase  in  the  centre,  and  then 
to  the  not  yet  completed  croquet  ground.  '  We  thought 
of  doing  the  same  thing,  only,  you  know,  it  hardly  would 
pay,  as  we  expected  to  get  in  our  own  house  so  soon. 
But  this  is  really  very  pretty.  Have  you  a  good  garden- 
er y 

1  O  we  all  did  it,'  laughed  Flo  in  her  unaffected  way. 
'  My  brother,  of  course,  did  the  hard  work,  the  digging 
and  all  that,  but  we  girls  took  our  trowels  and  knives  and 
help  d.  I  put  out  almost  all  of  the  plants.' 

'You?'  and  then  they  looked  down  at  Flo's  white 
hands.  '  Why,  you  are  wonderful,  really  wonderful ; 
isn't  she,  Netta  dear  ?  And  we  find  absolutely  nothing 
to  do  here  but  ride  about  and  play  croquet,  and  go  down 
to  the  beach.  We  live  like  the  Lotus  eaters  in  Summer.' 

'And  we  ought  not  to  do  anything  of  the  kind,'  said 
Miss  Hoinans.  '  Your  sister  Edith  sets  us  an  example,  if 
only  we  were  not  too  indolent  to  follow  it.  By  the  way, 
I  think  our  new  Assistant  is  going  to  revolutionize  things, 
and  give  us  all  work  to  do.  How  shall  you  like  that, 
Miss  Fox  ?' 

'I  shall  like  it  far  more  than  I  can  express,' replied 
Flo.  '  It  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a  great  lack  of  in- 
terest in  the  Church.  You  know  in  the  city  we  are  used 
to  mission  schools  and  daily  services — ' 

'And  poor  old  women  and  ragged  children,'  laughed 
Bella  Desmond.  '  I  shall  tell  Edith  when  I  go  home,  my 
dear,  that  she  will  find  a  valuable  coadjutor  in  you.  She 
has  been  dying  to  get  some  one  to  institute  such  a  move- 
ment ;  and  Mr.  Ay  mar  promises  well,  I  do  assure  you.' 

1  You  have  met  him,  then  ?' 

'  Mamma  would  tell  you  that  we  were  already  the  old- 


74  CLOVEKLT. 

cst  friends.  She  has  perfectly  absorbed  every  moment 
of  his  time  since  he  came.  Bat  you  will  meet  him  on 
Wednesday,  if  you  will  consent  to  come  to  our  little  fes- 
la.  Indeed  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  mamma  was  making 
him  quite  the  feature  of  the  occasion.  We  shall  hope  to 
see  you  all.  And  now,  good  morning.  You  must  pardon 
us  for  keeping  you  in  the  sun  so  long.' 

They  nodded,  touched  up  their  ponies,  and  cantered 
out  of  the  lane. 

'  What  will  you  wear,  Flo  ?'  I  shouted,  making  a  speak- 
ing trumpet  of  my  hands,  and  waving  Meg's  duster,  as 
soon  as  the  two  equestrians  had  fluttered  out  of  sight. 

'  O,  you're  up  there  listening,  are  you  ?  I'll  come  in 
and  we'll  have  a  consultation.' 

'  Yes,  that's  just  the  thing, '  said  Meg. 

'  What  is  there  to  wear  ?  I've  never  been  to  a  garden 
party,  in  all  my  life.  I've  read  about  them  though,  arid 
know  what  we  ought  to  wear — the  lightest,  daintest  mus- 
lins, the  tiniest  boots,  broad-brimmed  hats,  and  plenty 
of  flowers.  Wont  Flo  be  too  lovely  for  anything,  for  she 
has  all  her  things  ready,  just  as  if  they  were  made  ex- 
pressly for  the  occasion — did  you  ever  know  another 
such  lassie  ? ' 

Meantime  Flo  closed  the  parlor  blinds,  making  it  cool 
and  dark,  and  then  came  up  the  stairs,  singing  softly  to 
herself  a  little  Scotch  air,  and  folding  her  old  gloves  one 
within  the  other. 

'What  a  girl  you  are,  Flo,'  I  began.  'If  you  had  just 
stepped  out  of  a  mantua-makers,  you  could  not  look  more 
spotlessly  neat  or  well-dressed.  I  don't  see  how  you  con- 
trive to  do  it.  How  do  you  think  Meg  and  I  would  have 
looked,  if  your  two  visitors  had  taken  iis  unawares  as 
they  did  you  ? ' 


MAKING   AN   IMPRESSION.  75 

'  O,  I  think  Meg  is  very  presentable  ;  but  it  is  your 
unfortunate  love  of  paint  and  turpontine  that  leads  you 
astray,  my  dear.  If  I  were  you,  I'd  have  a  painting 
dress — a  sort  of  thing  like  a  domino  to  envelope  yourself 
in,  and  catch  stray  dabs  of  color. ' 

'  But  I  can't  have  a  shield  for  my  nose,  you  know — ^ 
that's  the  melancholy  part  of  it.     I  do  wonder  if  that  was 
Mr.  Aymar  who  spoke  to  us  over  the  hedge  the  other  day.' 

4  Not  at  all  likely,'  responded  Meg.  'I  think  the  other 
stranger  in  the  chancel  was  he — our  friend  of  the  festival 
is  much  too  young  to  be  Mr.  Leighton's  assistant.' 

'  But  they  were  both  ordained  priests,'  commented  Flo. 

'  Very  true.  Trying  their  wings  for  the  first  time,  I 
suppose.  The  younger  one — our  friend — eyed  Flo  when- 
ever a  good  opportunity  presented,  I  noticed.  He  lost 
his  place  two  or  three  times,  and  he  blushed  like  a  girl,' 
said  I. 

'  O  Barbara  !  I  think  he  gave  more  th  ought  to  the  ser- 
vices than  to  things  of  that  sort,'  said  Flo  seriously. 

'  Well,  if  it  was  Mr.  Aymar,  I  only  hope  that  he  will 
not  remember  me,  or  if  he  does,  that  he  will  kindly  imagine 
me  tattooed  for  the  occasion.  I  shall  have  to  resort  to 
some  system,  I  suppose,  if  we  are  going  to  have  morning 
calls,  and  meet  young  gentlemen  in  the  woods  or  on  the 
by-roads.  This  is  the  wilderness  that  we  have  strayed 
into,  is  it,  and  these  the  benighted  heathen  with  whom  we 
are  to  associate  !  I  must  say,  living  in  the  country  is  not  at 
all  what  I  expected  it  would  be.  But  all  this  does  not 
settle  the  question  of  dress  ;  what  are  "ve^io  wear,  do  you 
suppose  ? ' 

We  all  made  this  appeal  to  mother,  as  we  went  on  into 
her  bed-room,  where  she  sat  by  the  window,  sewing. 

'  Do  you  think  we  can  go,  in  the  first  place  ? '  asked 


76  CLOVERLY. 

Flo.  '  I  wouldn't  say  positively  until  I  had  asked  your 
pevmission,  mother,'  dropping  down  by  her  side. 

Mother  nodded  approval  with  a  bright  smile.  '  I  think 
it  will  be  delightful  for  you,  girls,  but  I  am  a  little  afraid 
your  dresses  are  not  good  enough.  What  will  you  wear, 
Meg,  your  blue  lawn  V ' 

'  Most  likely,'  replied  Meg.  ' I  haven't  thought  much 
about  it  yet.' 

'And  Flo  will  wear  white  with  a  blue  sash,  and  her 
broad-brimmed  chip  hat  tied  with  blue  ribbons,  and  dot- 
ted with  daisies,'  said  I,  'all  as  nice  and  fresh  as  if  it 
were  made  for  the  party.  What  a  picture  you  will  make, 
Flo  !  But  what  shall  I  wear  ?  I,  who  have  nothing  but 
a  few  crumpled  muslins,  and  never  was  out  to  a  party  of 
any  kind  in  my  life. ' 

'  You  poor  little  Cinderella,'  said  Meg.  '  We  must  lend 
you  something.  You  may  choose  from  my  extensive 
wardrobe. ' 

'  You  may  take  my  lavender  lawn,  Barbara,'  said  Flo. 

'  Or  my  best  white  gown,'  interpolated  Meg. 

f  Dear  me  !  what  a  thing  it  is  to  have  two  grown-up 
sisters — Meg's  too  short,  and  Flo's  too  tall.  I'll  have  to 
stay  at  home,  I  see  clearly. ' 

'I  think,'  said  mother,  'we'll  have  to  give  Barbara  a 
new  dress.  You  can  buy  you  a  lawn,  if  you  like,  dear, 
and  Flo  can  lend  you  one  of  her  pretty  ribbons.' 

This  was  a  wonderful  departure  from  established  rules, 
for  heretofore  this  interesting  middle  child  had  been  con- 
tent to  wear  her  sisters'  cast-off  dresses,  or  exist  by  bor- 
rowing— not  so  dangerous  an  experiment  as  one  might 
have  supposed  ;  for  the  only  time  that  I  was  scrupulous- 
ly careful,  was  when  I  indulged  in  borrowed  finery.  But 
Meg  threw  cold  water  on  this  project. 


MAKING   AN    IMPRESSION.  77 

'It  can't  be  done,  your  grace,'  she  laughed  ;  '  the  party 
comes  off  to-morrow.  Bab  will  have  to  go  in  her  regular 
characterof  Asdienputtle,  or  accept  my  overtures.' 

'  O  dear,'  I  sighed,  'I  wish  that  we  were  rich  enough 
to  have  evei'ything  that  we  need,  without  borrowing  and 
lending.  However,  I'll  try  on  the  dress — it  will  be  a 
mile  too  short.' 

'  Let  it  down,  then,'  advised  Meg.  '  It  never  will  show 
under  the  upper  skirt.  And  there's  your  own  embroid- 
ered waist  to  wear.  It  will  be  lovely.  And  the  round 
hat  is  a  thing  easily  gotten  up.  Then  there's  mother's 
corals.  It's  your  turn  to  wear  them  now.' 

4  But  you'll  want  them,'  I  said,  flushing  with  delight  at 
Meg's  ready  advice. 

'  No,  indeed  ;  I'm  going  to  wear  my  jets,  black  velvet 
bows  and  sash,  and  tie  my  new  white  garden  hat  with 
black  velvet  ribbons.  It  will  be  prettier  and  more  be- 
coming than  anything  else  that  I  can  wear  ;  and  Flo  will 
be  a  beauty  in  all  those  fluted  ruffles.  I  am  glal  now 
that  I  insisted  upon  taking  them  in  hand  myself. ' 

And  Meg,  the  energetic,  bustled  off  to  her  room,  shook 
out  her  own  dress,  and  gave  me  another,  with  injunc- 
tions to  rip  it  off  the  band,  and  set  to  work  as  quickly  as 
possible.  Flo  had  nothing  to  do — she  never  had  ;  it  was 
only  Meg  and  I  who  worked  our  fingers  metaphorically 
to  the  bone  to  keep  ourselves  from  absolute  disgrace,  as 
regaided  our  personal  adornments. 

'  I  wonder  what  the  new  Rector  will  be  like,'  I  said  to 
Meg  that  afternoon,  as  we  sat  in  the  bay  window  down- 
stairs, making  up  our  bows  and  plans  simultaneously, 
while  mother  swayed  placidly  in  her  rocking-chair  as 
she  knitted  a  sock,  and  Flo  flitted  among  the  flower-beda 


78  .  CLOV.EULY. 

in  the  garden  below,  making  up  her  daily  bouquets  for 
the  vases  in  the  parlor  and  ou  the  tea-table. 

'He  isn't  Hector  yet,'  commented  Meg,  looping  her 
black  velvet  and  holding  it  up  to  catch  the  effect. 

'  0  well,  as  good  as  that.  Mr.  Leighton  will  give  up 
everything  to  him  now — see  if  he  don't ;  and  Bella  Des- 
mond said  this  morning  he  was  full  of  all  sorts  of  new 
ideas.  I  hope  he  won't  have  candles  and  a  processional.' 

Meg  laughed.  '  I  think  Mrs.  Desmond  would  sign  ar-  ^ 
tides  of  war  right  away.  Beside,  I  don't  see  who  he  ) 
would  get  to  procesh,'  with  a  furtive  glaace  at  mother, 
who  never  tolerated  the  stray  bits  of  slang  we  were  prone 
to  indulge  in  when  alone.  'I  think,  perhaps,  he'll  give 
a  little  life  and  zest  to  parish  work.  That  wont  hurt  us 
a  bit,  you  know.  We  need  it ;  and  a  little  brightening 
up  in  the  matter  of  decorations  and  music,  will  be  de- 
lightful. I  don't  see  what  they  would  do  for  music,  if  it 
were  not  for  Miss  Desmond  and  Flo.  I  don't  wonder 
that  our  advent  was  hailed  with  some  degree  of  enthu- 
siam  ;  for  Flo's  voice  was  just  the  one  thing  they  could 
do  no  longer  without.' 

We  worked  on  quietly  for  a  few  minutes,  while  my 
thoughts  travelled  back  to  the  arbor-vitse  hedge  and  the 
young  clergyman's  face,  that  I  had  seen  for  one  brief  in- 
stant over  it,  while  Meg  went  on  tying  up  her  velvet 
with  the  greatest  precision.  Just  then  Bridget  appeared 
hurriedly  in  the  open  door. 

'  The  praste,  mum,  and  Miss  Desmond  are  here,  sure. 
They  found  Miss  Flo  in  the  garden,  and  they're  all  a 
comin'  up  the  steps.' 

Down  went  Meg's  velvet  bows — I  skilfully  made  a  ball 
of  my  muslins  and  threw  it  behind  the  sofa,  while  mo- 
ther serenely  folded  up  her  knitting  and  went  forward  to 


MAKING  AN  IMPRESSION.  79 

receive  her  guests.  I  had  just  time  to  put  both  hands  to 
ray  head,  and  give  a  hurried  smooth  to  the  hair  that 
never  would  lie  properly,  when  in  walked  Mrs.  Desmond 
with  Flo  by  her  side,  her  white  apron  half  full  of  cut- 
flowers,  and  her  cheeks  a  little  flushed  as  she  ushered  the 
new  clergyman  into  our  morning  room.  One  glance  at 
him  settled  my  doubts.  Mr.  Aymar  and  my  Jesuit  Bro- 
ther were  one  and  the  same.  I  know  a  certain  conscious- 
ness bubbled  up  into  my  eyes.  I  could  feel  them  danc- 
ing, bat  I  hurriedly  gave  my  hand  to  Mrs.  Desmond, 
who  had  swept  up  to  me,  overturning  my  work-basket 
with  her  long  dress  and  sudden  movements. 

'Let  me  present  you  to  our  new  rector,  my  dear,'  she 
was  saying,  '  a  charming  young  man.  I  have  been  par- 
ticularly struck  with  his  ideas  already — so  large,  so  diffu- 
sive— you  may  depend  we  are  to  have  a  live  parish  now' 
— this  in  a  stage  aside — then  taking  the  young  gentleman 
by  the  arm,  she  said 

'Here  are  two  more  members  of  your  congregation, 
Miss  Fox,  Miss  Barbara  Fox,  Mr.  Aymar.  Do  you  know, 
young  ladies,  that  I  have  been  going  through  this  form 
ever  since  breakfast.  I  am  quite  certain  that  he  knows 
one-half  the  parish  already.' 

Mr.  Aymar  shook  hands  with  us,  said  laughingly 

'  I  believe  we  have  met  before.  It  gives  me  an  oppor- 
tunity to  apologize  again  for  startling  you  as  I  did,  the  day 
before  the  Trinity  Festival.  I  can  only  say  in  extenua- 
tion of  my  conduct,  that  flowers  are  almost  a  necessity 
with  me.  I  was  determined  to  have  them,  and  I  hadn't 
the  faintest  idea  to  whom  to  apply. ' 

He  spoke  to  us  all,  but  he  looked~at  Flo,  and  I  added 
to  her  confusion  by  giving  her  a  horrible  wink  as  I  sat 
down  by  Mrs.  Desmond,  who  was  chatting  in  her  usual 


80  CLOVEKLY. 

desultory  way,  talking  to  no  one  in  particular,  but  tak- 
ing us  all  in  with  one  comprehensive  sweep  of  her  hand 
and  tongue.  Mr.  Aymar  was  doing  the  usual  morning- 
caller-talk  with  Meg  and  Flo,  and  listening  to  small 
scraps  of  information  about  the  parish,  which  Mrs.  Des- 
mond threw  out  once  in  awhile,  much  in  the  same  way  that 
one  dispenses  sugarplums  to  a  petted  child.  From  my 
rather  obscure  seat  I  could  watch  him  without  very  much 
danger  of  his  discovering  me  in  the  act.  He  was  without 
a  doubt  young,  and  rather  studentish  looking,  with 
brown  eyes,  that  had  a  good  deal  of  earnestness  in  their 
depths.  He  was  not  handsome,  though  certainly  not 
ugly,  for  there  was  something  inexpressibly  winning  in 
his  face,  though  his  manner  was  almost  shy  at  times. 
Perhaps  it  was  his  youth,  but  I,  who  am  four  or  five 
years  his  junior,  never  feel  shy  at  all.  That  is  the  dif- 
ference, however,  between  men  and  women — we  certainly 
do  age  faster  than  men.  Gauging  him  thus,  I  amused 
myself  very  coolly  with  looking  at  him,  but  I  noticed  that 
he  turned  away  with  some  confusion  whenever  his  eyes 
met  mine.  I  am  sure  that  I  cannot  endure  a  man  who  is 
nervous  and  shy  as  a  girl  of  sixteen,  and  it  is  most  un- 
fortunate for  a  clergyman.  Think  of  all  the  different 
people  that  he  must  be  agreeable  to,  whether  he  fancies 
them  or  not !  Most  certainly  a  minister  is  to  be  pitied, 
and  a  minister's  wife — that  is  the  last  position  in  life  to 
which  I  should  ever  aspire  ;  I  had  almost  written  sirJc, 
only  I  think  Flo  would  say  that  was  so  very,  very  wick- 
ed— for  if  the  office  dignifies  a  man,  perhaps  it  may 
eventually  dignify  even  a  woman.  But  those  are  things 
that  I  never  like  to  think  of  ;  either  I  am  above  them,  or 
they  are  above  me.  I  do  wonder  which  it  is. 

'And  so  you  are  the  artist  of  the  family,  your  mother 


MAKING    AN    IMPRESSION.  81 

tells  me,'  said  Mrs.  Desmond,  turning  for  a  moment  from 
mother  to  me,  and  patting  me  on  the  hand.  'Now  that 
is  very  nice.  Do  you  know  I  adore  painting  ?  Bat  it  h;.j 
its  dangers  as  well  as  its  charms.  You  know  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing says  "Art  is  a  service."  She  might  have  added,  a 
hard  taskmaster,  taking  all  and  giving — now  I  am.  forced 
to  say  it,  you  know — giving  sometimes  absolutely  nothing. 
There  are  exceptions,  of  course — exceptions  to  all  rules. 
Bat,  my  dear,  your  pretty  pink  cheeks  will  be  white  if 
you  coop  yourself  in  a  hot  garret  this  lovely  weather,  and 
inhale  those  loathsome  oils.  Now  really,  Mrs.  Fox,  you 
must  learn  to  be  firm.  With  these  enthusiastic  natures 
it  is  the  only  way,  positively  the  only  way.' 

There  was  a  something  in  her  easy  familiar  kindness 
that  was  just  the  least  bit  condescending  and  patronizing, 
and  instead  of  soothing  me  with  its  sweetness,  it  acted 
like  an  irritant,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  Meg  told  me  that  I 
was  positively  brusque  afterward,  and  I  fear  that  I  was, 
for  I  certainly  responded  with  some  asperity  '  That  mo- 
ther had  never  given  me  over  much  advice  upon  the  sub- 
ject, perhaps  because  i  had  such  an  unfortunate  habit  of 
detesting  advice.'  I  might  have  gone  a  little  further, 
and  said  something  even  more  offensive  and  rude,  if  Meg 
had  not  coughed  appealingly,  and  then  I  caught  Mr. 
Aymar's  brown  eyes  fastened  upon  mine  with  irresistible 
laughter  and  surprise  in  their  depths.  I  was  more  vexed 
with  myself  than  I  could  express,  and  yet  I  flashed  him 
back  an  angry  look.  "What  business  had  he,  a  stranger, 
to  laugh  at  me  and  my  silly  little  outburst  ?  particularly 
as  Mrs.  Desmond  took  not  the  slightest  notice  of  it,  bat 
ramblod  on  without  the  least  shade  of  annoyance  on  her 
placid  face.  '  Young  people  are  all  alike,  and  think 
themselves  capable  of  judging  for  themselves  in  the  most 


82  CLOVERLY. 

important  matters.  It  is  just  so  with  Isabella — the  dear- 
est child,  but  -wilful — she  can't  help  it,  you  know — she  is 
a  woman.  But  I  lay  down  stringent  rules,  quite  strin- 
gent, you  know.  Bella  is  so  fond  of  music — clever,  too, 
immensely  clever,' in  another  audible  aside;  'but  I  am 
firm  in  carrying  out  my  plan — rides  and  walks,  and  music 
afterward  ;  it  is  the  only  way,  Mrs.  Fox — firmness  with 
the  young  people.' 

She  nodded  her  flowers  two  or  three  times  good  humor- 
edly  to  me,  and  in  the  pause  that  followed  I  seemed  to 
hear  my  impertinent  words  dropping  like  an  echo.  A 
painful  blush  overspread  my  face,  but  Meg  came  gallant- 
ly to  my  rescue,  and  began  a  talk  about  the  rides  around 
the  country,  and  the  beat  place  to  obtain  a  view  of  the 
sea,  and  Mrs.  Desmond  drifted  back  into  conversation 
with  mother  and  Flo. 

'  Do  you  ride,  Miss  Fox  ?'  asked  Mr.  Aymar,  speaking 
to  me  for  the  first  time. 

'  I  know  very  little  about  riding,'  I  replied,  '  but  I 
drive  an  old  superannuated  horse  and  phaeton  that  looks 
as  if  it  had  come  in  with  the  Flood.  I  enjoy  that  im- 
mensely. If  you  chance  to  meet  such  an  apparition,  you 
will  be  able  to  tell  who  it  is.' 

'I  can  do  that  very  easily,'  he  said  smilingly,  'for  I 
have  met  you  once  before,  you  know — that  is,  twice  be- 
fore.' 

'  No  ;  only  once,'  I  said,  my  cheeks  flushing  a  little  at 
the  remembrance.  '  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  I  don't 
often  go  about  the  country  tattooed  like  a  savage. ' 

'  You  mean  the  time  that  I  saw  you  over  the  hedge  ; 
but  I  met  you  once  before  that,  with  your  little  sister,  in 
the  old  churchyard.  You  had  evidently  found  something 


MAKING    AN    IMBSES3ION.  83 

very  interesting  as  well  as  amusing  to  entertain  yourselves 
with.' 

In  tlie  churchyard  ?  Yes,  I  knew  I  had  seen  those 
brown  eyes  before.  To-day  they  had  been  bent  upon  me 
fall  of  laaghter,  but  in  the  churchyard  they  had  looked 
into  mine  gravely  and  disapprovingly. 

A  very  disagreeable  young  man,  I  inwardly  comment- 
ed ;  a  young  man  that  in  spite  of  his  apparent  shy- 
ness had  eyes  to  see  everything,  and  remember  it 
too.  I  should  never  be  able  to  tolerate  him,  that  was 
certain. 

'  Bess  and  I  were  amusing  ourselves  with  the  old  in- 
scriptions,' I  said  coldly;  and  then  Mrs.  Desmond  and 
Flo  began  discussing  a  new  book.  It  was  an  English 
work,  and  brought  up  some  strong  points  in  Kitual,  I  be- 
lieve. I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  asked  Mr.  Ay  mar 
if  he  had  seen  it.  He  had,  upon  Mrs.  Desmond's  table, 
where  all  the  new  books,  I  fancy,  found  their  way;  but 
he  had  so  little  time  for  reading  ;  and  then  he  asked  me 
if  I  shared  my  sister's  tastes,  and  liked  solid  or  serious 
reading. 

'I  like  novels,'  I  said  ;  'though  I'm  not  sure  that  I 
ought  to  confess  it  to  you.' 

'And  why  not,  pray  ?'  he  returned  quickly.  '  Don't 
you  approve  of  truthful  answers,  Miss  Fox  ?' 

I  said  '  Yes,'  as  I  told  him  that  he  would  probably  con- 
demn me  for  indulging  in  romances,  and  that  I  did  not 
like  poetry  at  all. 

'  You  are  saying  that  to  shock  me,'  he  answered  ;  '  but 
I  shall  give  you  a  compliment  instead.  Macaulay  tells 
us  that  one  can  neither  read  nor  write  poetry  without  a 
certain  unsoundness  of  mind.  Perhaps  you  are  aware  of 
that  fact,  and  say  so  just  to  make  yourself  seeni  superior. 


84  CLOVERLY. 

Very  young  ladies,  are  generally  so  fond  of  poetry,  that 
you  seem  an  exception  to  established  rules.' 

I  fancied  there  was  a  little  mockery  in  his  voice  ;  in- 
deed I  had  a  feeling  all  the  time  that  he  was  laughing  at 
me,  ever  since  my  unlucky  speech  to  Mrs.  Desmond,  and 
I  disliked  him  more  than  ever.  Very  young  ladies,  in- 
deed !  and  here  had  I  been  pitying  him  for  his  youth 
and  shyness  !  I  was  so  disposed  to  quarrel  with  him  that 
my  only  safety,  I  felt,  was  in  utter  silence  ;  and  he  went 
on  : 

'  I  have  Mrs.  Desmond's  statements  to  help  me  out  of 
any  little  difficulty.  She  was  only  a  moment  ago,  you 
will  remember,  commenting  upon  the  wilfulness  of  young 
ladies.' 

'  She  might  with  more  truth  have  commented  upon 
their  impertinence,'  I  replied,  resolving  to  appear  ami- 
able, if  possible,  for  Mrs.  Desmond  had  risen  and  was 
making  her  adieus.  '  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for  having 
spoken  so  hastily  to  her.' 

'  Indeed  ?  To  be  sensible  of  an  err.or  is  the  next  best 
thing  to  noncommittal  of  it,'  and  this  time  his  eyes  were 
earnest  and  his  face  grave. 

I  gave  him  my  hand  very  quietly,  with  a  '  Thank  you  ' 
that  I  did  not  feel  in  the  least — I  am  sure  I  had  much 
rather  have  given  him  my  honest  opinion  ;  and  then  I 
began  a  speech  of  contrition  to  Mrs.  Desmond,  who  smil- 
ed, patted  my  hand  again,  hoped  to  see  me  at  the  little 
croquet  party  on  the  morrow,  and  shaking  her  finger 
warningly,  said  '  I  shall  always  condemn  your  working 
in  oils  in  warm  weather.  One  is  so  apt  to  become  ab- 
sorbed, you  know.'  She  had  cantered  at  a  break-neck 
pace  through  the  parish  to  mother,  telling  her  who  were 
eligible  acquaintances  and  who  were  not,  discussing  the 


MAZING   AN    IMPRESSION.  85 

comparative  attractions  of  city  and  country,  and  grace- 
fully giving  precedence  to  the  latter,  together  with,  a 
glowing  rhapsody  on  Church  and  State ;  and  now  she 
had  shaken  hands  all  around,  taken  Mr.  Aymar's  arm 
and  ambled  out  at  a  nice  little  trot  to  the  carriage,  com- 
menting upon  the  river,  the  dear  old  house,  Uncle  Jane- 
way,  aud  rural  delights,  in  one  breath. 

We  all  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  -when  she  had  gone,  and  I 
ejaculated  heartily  '  I  feel  as  if  I  had  just  gotten  over 
an  attack  of  neuralgia  !  I  am  sure  if  I  were  to  see  much 
of  Mrs.  Desmond,  I  should  go  to  an  insane  asylum  for 
the  rest  of  my  natural  existence. ' 

'  I  think  I  shall  put  you  there  anyway,  Barbara, '  said 
mother  quietly,  '  it'  I  ever  hear  you  making  such  pert 
replies  as  I  heard  this  morning. ' 

This  was  as  much  of  a  reproof  as  I  ever  needed  from 
mother.  I  went  up  to  her  and  put  my  arms  around  her 
neck  in  an  instant. 

'  I  am  going  to  be  as  good  as  I  can  be  after  this,  to 
make  up  for  my  shortcomings,'  I  said,  'but  I  may  con- 
fess to  you  privately  one  thing,  mayn't  I,  mother  dear  ? 
I  cannot  endure  Mr.  Aymar.  He  is  the  very  last  man  on 
earth  to  be  a  clergyman.  He  is  nothing  but  a  school  boy, 
and  a  very  silly  one  at  that.' 

'  I  thought  him  very  intelligent,'  said  Flo,  '  rather  re- 
tiring, but  earnest  and  practical.  I  am  quite  certain 
that  he  is  the  very  man  for  this  parish.' 

'And  his  eyes  ! '  ejaculated  Meg,  as  she  picked  up  her 
velvet  bows,  '  now  confess,  Bab,  that  his  eyes  are  fine.' 

'  Not  different  from  a  thousand  other  brown  eyes  that 
I  have  seen,'  I  replied. 

And  then  to  prove  Mrs.  Desmond's  words  true,  out  of 


86  CL07EBLY. 

very  wilf  ulness,  I  went  up  into  my  studio  and  painted  all 
the  rest  of  the  day. 

But  I  found  that  Mr.  Aymar's  eyes  were  very  different 
from  the  thousand  others  that  I  had  seen, — the  peculiari- 
ty about  them  was  that  I  could  not  get  rid  of  them  even 
after  he  was  gone.  The  eyes,  or  the  remembrance  of 
them,  stayed  by  me  oddly.  I  saw  them  looking  into  mine 
continually — now  grave  and  serious,  now  flashing  with 
sudden  mirth.  Yes,  he  had  been  longing  to  laugh  at  me 
• — and  I — I  was  the  one  that  had  been  silly  aud  ignorant 
— I  did  not  know  that  he  had  been  laughing  at  me  all 
the  time  with  those  wonderful  brown  eyes,  though  his 
face  was  gravity  itself.  I  feared  that  he  had  been  weigh- 
ing me  and  labelling  me  at  my  value, — my  value,  indeed  ! 
Just  for  the  oddity  of  the  thing,  I  would  like  to  find  out 
for  myself  what  that  value  might  be. 


CHAPTER  VEX 

THE   GABDEN   PABTY. 

It  -was  lovely  weather  for  croquet :  not  a  cloud  in  the 
sky,  and  not  a  breath  of  air  to  displace  our  garden  hats 
or  to  dishevel  our  tresses.  We  all  looked  well — mother 
said  we  did,  and  that  was  quite  praise  enough  for  any- 
body. We  tucked  our  crisp  muslins  about  us  and  sat  at 
prim  distances  on  the  wide  seat  of  the  family  ark,  not 
daring  to  lean  back,  lest  by  so  doing  we  should  crush 
our  fluted  ruffles  ;  but  we  chatted  and  laughed  and  had 
our  usual  amount  of  family  fun,  all  by  ourselves,  as  Bob 
drove  us  to  the  Desmond's  gate.  There  Nat  helped  us 
out,  Bob  gave  us  a  parting  grimace,  and  we  opened  the 
white  gate,  standing  there  a  moment  to  shake  our  flounc- 
ings  out,  and  see  that  everything  was  right.  Meg  had 
one  last  word  of  advice  for  me. 

'  You  look  well,  Bab,  my  dear  ;  only  behave  as  well  as 
you  look,  and  you'll  do.  Don't  talk  in  that  positive  way 
of  yours.  Try  and  be  quiet  and  easy.  Look  at  Flo  and 
see  how  she  does  things.' 

'  Look  at  Flo,  indeed  ! '  I  laughed.  'And  much  good 
would  it  do  me.  I've  been  looking  at  her  ever  since  I 
was  born,  and  it's  my  belief  that  the  gulf  widens  between 
us,  every  day.  I  must  just  be  myself,  Meg,  and  if  peo- 
ple don't  like  me,  I'll  have  to  bear  it  as  well  as  I  can.' 

'  Don't  be  silly,'  said  Meg,  jerking  my  sash  into  place, 
and  looking  me  all  over  once  more.  'And  remember  not 
to  make  remarks  about  anybody.' 

'  Look  at  me  once  in  awhile,  and  if  you  see  me  doing 
anything  out  of  the  way,  just  wink,'  said  L 


88  CLOVERLY. 

'  Wink,  indeed  !  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  I'll 
cough.' 

'Very  good,'  retorted  I.  'But  you'll  throw  yourself 
into  a  consumption  yet,  with  that  cough  of  yours,  and  I 
dou't  see  that  I  behave  very  much  better  because  of  it.' 

'  That  is  because  you  dou't  try.' 

'There,  that  will  do,'  said  Nat.  'If  you  give  Bab  any 
more  advice  she'll  sit  like  a  trussed  fowl  all  the  evening. 
I  think  it  would  be  better  to  be  natural,  even  if  one  isirt 
quite  us  agreeable.' 

'  Decidedly,'  said  Flo  quietly,  and  with  this  little  snub- 
bing all  around,  we  walked  up  the  gravelled  path,  under 
the  spreading  green  trees,  catching  glimpses  of  white 
dresses  and  bright  colored  sashes  flitting  across  the  lawn 
and  on  the  piazza.  Mr.  Aymar  and  Miss  Desmond  were 
a  little  apart  from  the  otbers — Mr.  Aymar  striking  the 
last  wicket  in  its  place,  while  she  aimlessly  knocked  the 
gay  balls  about. 

'She  has  the  priest  all  to  herself,'  I  whispered  to  Ho, 
as  we  walked  across  the  lawn  to  meet  them.  '  That  is 
the  charm  of  having  a  young  man  settled  over  one.  The 
whole  unmarried  population  are  drawing  cuts  for  him. 
It's  great  fun.' 

'  I  don't  think  it  "will  be  such  particularly  good  fun 
with  Mr.  Aymar,'  said  Flo.  'I  think  he  seems  to  be  far 
more  engaged  with  his  parish  and  his  poor,  than  with  the 
young  ladies.' 

'  I  should  like  to  know  what  he  is  doing  now  if  he  isn't 
flirting,'  I  said,  as  I  saw  him  drop  on  one  knee  to  drive  a 
hoop  more  securely.  'They  have  beea  talking  there 
alone  in  a  most  absorbed  manner,  ever  since  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  house.' 

'It  doesn't  follow   that   it  is  a  flirtation,'  said  Meg. 


THE   GARDEN   PABTY.  89 

'  They  may  be  planning  red-flannel  garments  for  super- 
annuated fishermen's  wives,  for  aught  we  know  to  the 
contrary. ' 

'It  looks  uncommonly  like  it,'  I  responded,  and  then 
hearing  our  footsteps,  they  both  turned  around  acd  stroll- 
ed toward  us,  Mr.  Aymar  taking  off  his  hat  and  making 
us  a  profound  bow. 

Miss  Desmond  laid  her  hand  pleasantly  on  Meg's  arm, 
after  our  greetings  had  been  exchanged,  walking  between 
her  and  Nat  to  the  house.  Mr.  Aymar.  dropped  behind 
to  accompany  us,  and  balked  in  a  grave  ordinary  tone  of 
the  weather,  the  promise  of  fine  croquet,  and  then  drift- 
ed casually  into  Church  matters,  as  if  that  was  really 
the  only  thing  a  clergyman  was  expected  to  be  chatty 
about. 

I  didn't  like  it.  We  had  come  for  croquet,  not  for  a 
sermon.  We  had  plenty  of  the  latter,  with  the  changed 
services  and  abundant  work  laid  upon  each  one's  should- 
ers, but  Flo  entered  into  all  his  ideas  at  once,  and  look- 
ed at  him  as  he  talked  as  if  he  were  truly  what  Mrs.  Des- 
mond had  called  him,  '  A  young  John  crying  in  the  wil- 
derness.' 

I  was  perfectly  certain  that  I  should  not  like  him,  and 
if  every  one  in  the  parish  was  expected  to  greet  him  with 
a  kind  of  rapture,  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  balance  the 
thing  with  a  little  disrespect  and  snubbing  on  my  part. 
I  edged  away  from  him  as  soon  as  we  entered  the  hall, 
and  crowded  up  close  to  Nat's  brotherly  elbow.  We  laid 
our  hats  upon  the  hall  table  without  going  up  stairs  to 
pretend  to  arrange  our  hair  or  dress,  and  then  walked  in, 
the  drawing-room  to  be  presented  to  Mrs.  Desmond.  She 
was  lounging  in  a  capacious  chair,  toying  with  her  gold 
eye-glasses,  using  them,  as  it  were,  more  to  point  her  re- 


90  CLOVEKLY. 

marks  than  assist  her  vision,  when  she  saw  us  and  start- 
ed up,  coming  toward  us  with  both  hands  outstretched  : 
'  I  am  very  glad  that  you  took  all  the  trouble  to  come 
to  the  children's  little  gathering,'  she  said  cordially. 
She  was  always  calling  them  children,  as  if  they  were  just 
out  of  the  nursery.  '  I  am  happy,  Mr.  Pox,  to  meet  you,' 
bowing  over  Nat's  hand  as  if  the  act  conferred  a  patent 
of  nobility.  'And  why  did  not  your  other  brother 
come? ' 

'My  brother  feels  his  youth  keenly,' said  Meg  smil- 
ing. 'He  is  at  that  unfortunate  age  when  he  hardly 
knows  where  to  place  himself.' 

'  Something  like  Mahomet's  coffin,'  I  said  laughing,  '  a 
between  heaven  and  earth  position — one  don't  know  his 
proper  sphere.  I  think  no  age  quite  so  pitiable  for  a  boy 
as  seventeen.' 

'My  dear,  you  may  depend  upon  it,'  retaining  my 
hand  in  hers  for  a  moment,  '  that  when  the  figures  are 
reversed,  it  is  still  more  pitiable.  Seventeen  is  lovely, 
but  seventy-one  despairing  ! ' 

She  laughed,  swept  us  up  to  the  group  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen  she  had  been  talking  with  when  we  came  in, 
and  then  retreated  to  repeat  the  same  welcome  to  a  fresh 
arrival.  She  looked  very  charming  in  a  tasteful  silk  and 
little  lace  cap  with  delicate  pink  bows,  not  too  much 
dressed,  but  matronly  and  elegant,  though  it  was  model- 
led, I  could  see,  after  her  '  sweetly  simple '  style.  I  liked 
to  look  at  her  and  watch  her  talk  in  her  animated,  des- 
ultory way,  going  from  one  subject  to  another  as  if  it 
were  not  the  slightest  consequence  what  it  was,  she  be- 
ing quite  equal  to  any  emergency.  I  didn't  understand 
it.  I  could  get  along  so  much  better  with  the  daughters, 
who  never  descended  to  their  mother's  petty  flatteries 


THE    GARDEN    PARTY.  91 

and  condescending  familiarity.  Without  stopping  tore- 
fleet  where  I  was,  I  leaned  over,  pinching  Nat's  arm  and 
whispering  in  his  ear,  '  Isn't  it  too  absurd  to  watch  Mrs. 
Desmond  ?  How  can  she  pretend  to  like  everybody  ? 
And  she  says  the  same  thing  over  and  over  to  each  one  as 
they  come  in — I  dare  say  they  are  flattered,  but  I  know 
she  can't  be  charmed  with  them  all.  It  isn't  in  the  na- 
ture of  things,  and  what  a  sham  she  is  making  out  of 
life.' 

'  It  is  very  refreshing  in  these  days  to  hear  the  truth,' 
came  the  reply,  in  a  cool,  clear  tone  of  voice  ;  and  taking 
my  hand  off  the  broadcloth  sleeve,  I  saw  with  horror, 
not  Nat's  face,  but  that  of  a  tall  fair-haired  stranger  look- 
ing down  into  mine. 

'  O  I  beg  pardon,'  I  stammered,  'I  thought  it  was  my 
brother.  What  have  I  done  !  And  what  will  Meg  say  to 
me  !' 

'  Commend  you  for  your  truthfulness,  undoubtedly. 
Is  Meg  your  governess,  may  I  ask  ?  ' 

'She  is  my  sister,'  I  said,  my  cheeks  crimsoning  with 
vexation.  'And  she  will  never  forgive  me. ' 

'  Then  I  will  be  more  magnanimous,'  he  replied  with  a 
low  bow.  '  I  shall  endeavor  to  forget  that  you  have 
spoken  so  disrespectfully  of  my  poor  aunt.' 

'  Your  aunt  ? '  I  dropped  back  into  a  low  seat,  half-hid- 
den by  the  lace  curtain,  and  tried  to  recover  from  the 
dreadful  shock;  and  I  think  my  companion,  out  of  pure 
pity,  would  have  followed  me,  but  just  then  Mrs.  Des- 
mond carried  him  off,  to  introduce  him  to  a  new  comer, 
and  I  was  left  alone  to  swallow  my  mortification.  If  th* 
floor  had  kindly  opened  and  taken  me  in,  I  think  I  should 
have  been  grateful.  What  an  idiot  I  was  not  to  remem- 
ber Meg's  advice,  and  why  wasn't  she  on  the  spot  to 


92  CLOVEKLY. 

cougli  ?  Bat  after  a  few  moments  I  began  to  feel  a  little 
better.  There  were  so  many  extenuating  circumstances, 
now  that  I  sat  and  thought  it  over  coolly.  In  the  first 
place  the  blue  eyes  that  met  mine  were  absolutely  danc- 
ing with  laughter — if  Mrs.  Desmond  was  his  aunt,  he 
surely  was  not  offended — then  he  was  young,  not  very 
much  older  than  Nat,  I  should  say— he  would  be  sure 
to  feel  for  me,  a  stranger  and  young,  like  himself — and 
he  was  unmistakably  a  gentleman.  He  would  not  men- 
tion my  imprudent  words  to  any  one,  he  might  even  have 
the  grace  to  forget  them,  but  it  gave  me  such  a  shock 
that  I  was  quite  content  to  sit  alone  for  some  time  and 
watch 'the  company,  listen  to  the  tone  of  conversation, 
and  admire  the  room. 

The  walls  were  a  trifle  low  perhaps  to  one  accustomed 
to  city  houses,  but  here  in  the  country  the  effect  was 
pleasing.  There  was  a  deep  bay  window  at  one  end,  and 
at  the  other  two  long  glass-doors  opened  upon  a  wide, 
vine-covered  verandah.  There  were  two  more  windows 
at  the  side,  and  those  also  opened  upon  a  porch,  where 
broad-cushioned  seats  were  placed — the  very  spot  to  lead 
one  into  lounging  and  idleness.  The  tables  were  londed 
with  books  and  all  sorts  of  pretty  trumpery,  aud  the  piano, 
a  parlor  grand,  was  opened  and  covered  with  new  music. 
In  the  niches  stood  vases  filled  with  long  waving  ferns, 
and  under  the  mirrors  baskets  of  flowers  were  standing. 
On  thewalls  hung  beautiful  pictures — pictures  that  made 
my  fingers  tingle,  I  wanted  so  to  get  at  them  and  exam- 
ine them  ;  but  Meg,  turning  over  a  folio  of  prints  with 
Mr.  Homans,  warned  me  by  a  glance  not  to  begin  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  I  gloomily  refrained,  resolving  to  obey 
her  slightest  nod  after  this.  She  seemed  perfectly  at 
ease  with  the  grave  Mr.  Homans,  talking  to  him  as  nat- 


THE    GARDEN    PARTY.  93 

urally  and  unaffectedly  as  if  she  bad  been  in  society  all 
her  life.  Nat,  I  could  see,  was  playing  the  agreeable  to 
a  young  lady  in  pink  lawn,  and  here  was  I,  alone  in  a 
corner,  frightened  to  death,  and  makiog  a  miserable 
blunder  the  first  thing — laughing  about  our  hostess,  right 
under  her  very  eyes  as  it  were.  What  would  become  of 
me  if  I  went  on  doing  such  things  ?  I  certainly  had  al- 
ways been  the  Jonah  of  the  family,  from  the  moment 
that  I  was  old  enough  to  set  up  an  independent  line  of 
thought  and  action.  And  the  worst  of  it  was,  there  was 
always  a  whale  waiting  for  me;  I  never,  by  any  chance, 
missed  that  part  of  it. 

I  think  the  younger  Miss  Desmond  pitied  me,  for  pres- 
ently she  came  over  to  where  I  sat,  bringing  Netta  Ho- 
mans  with  her. 

I  liked  both  of  the  girls,  though  I  felt  a  little  shy  of 
them  at  first,  as  I  looked  at  their  beautiful  dresses,  which 
though  they  were  only  of  white  organdie,  were  trimmed 
with  exquisite  lace,  and  their  jaunty  garden  hats  were 
tied  over  the  most  elaborately  gotten  up  hair  dressing 
that  I  had  ever  seen,  I  felt  so  simply  dressad  by  the 
side  of  them  ;  but  I  was  proud  when  I  looked  across  at 
Flo,  -with  her  calm,  serens  face,  her  clouds  of  yellow  hair 
banded  loosely  above  her  forehead,  and  her  white  hands 
linked  carelessly  together  as  she  talked  with  Mrs.  Des- 
mond and  Mr.  Aymar.  If  Flo  had  worn  her  morning 
cambric  she  would  have  looked  jast  as  stately,  I  thought 
with  a  thrill  of  pleasure.  And  then  nothing  moves  her 
from  that  repose  of  manner  which  is  so  elegant  and  lady- 
like. I  could  see  that  if  I  had  not  made  any  impression, 
Flo  had,  for  Miss  Hornans  began  the  conversation  at 
once  with  a  compliment. 

'  Do  you  know  that  we  all  think  your  sister  so  charm- 


94  CL07EKLY. 

ing,  Miss  Barbara  ?  Mr.  Huntington  said  she  looked 
like  the  pictured  Madonna  in  the  great  Cathedral  at 
Milan,  but  to  me  she  seems  more  like  a  beautiful  statue 
of  St.  Agnes,  or  some  other  saint,'  she  said  with  a  little 
laugh.  '  She  must  be  sure  to  be  some  saint — no  other 
character  would  suit  her.' 

'Yes,'  I  said,  with  a  flush  of  pride,  'I  always  think  of 
her  in  that  way  ;  only  I've  never  been  abroad  to  see  any 
fine  pictures,  and  so  cannot  institute  comparisons.  I  am 
content  to  take  her  as  our  saint. ' 

She  laughed  again  and  nodded.  '  I  am  rather  afraid 
of  good  people  usually,'  she  went  on,  '  they  are  apt  to  as- 
sume so  much,  and  make  a  barricade  of  their  pet  opin- 
ions, but  I  am  attracted  to  Miss  Flo  in  an  unaccountable 
way  ;  I  am  sure  that  we  shall  be  great  friends,  and  there 
is  nothing  like  croquet  to  make  people  fraternize.  I  am 
going  to  ask  her  to  join  our  side,  and  wont  you  play  with 
Bella  and  Mr.  Huntington  ?  I  saw  you  talking  to  him 
when  you  first  came  in,  so  I  know  that  you  are  acquaint- 
ed.' 

So  my  new  friend's  name  was  Hnntington,  was  it.  I 
was  glad  to  find  out  even  that  about  him.  I  rose  wi Mi 
alacrity  to  tie  on  my  hat — an  airy  little  fabrication  of 
Meg's,  a  mass  of  lace,  daisies,  and  grasses,  and  then 
we  all  went  out  on  the  lawn  together,  which  was  already 
dotted  with  groups  of  prettily  dressed  ladies,  and  a  pro- 
portionate amount  of  black  coats  and  white  waistcoats. 
Mr.  Aymar  and  Flo  were  choosing  colors ;  we  took  sides, 
and  the  game  opened  with  a  brilliant  stroke  from  Miss 
Homans.  Mr.  Aymar  showed  that  he  too  understood -the 
art  of  wielding  the  mallet,  and  I  who  had  always  been 
accounted  a  famous  player  at  home,  determined  to  do  my 
best  here.  I  followed  Miss  Homans,  going  through 


THE    GABDEN   PAKTr.  95 

wicket  after  wicket  as  easily  as  if  it  -were  the  merest  bag- 
atelle to -win,  and  coining  out  as  rover,  the  first  one,  when 
I  noticed  Mr.  Huntington  following  me.  I  was  horribly 
afraid  of  him,  after  the  unfortunate  mistake  I  had  made, 
and  felt  decidedly  nervous  and  shy,  but  his  gaity  was  in- 
fections, and  I  began  to  be  a  little  more  at  ease,  as  we 
strayed  away  from  the  others,  he  following  me  closely, 
and  chatting  all  the  time  as  gaily  as  if  we  were  the  oldest 
friends. 

Suddenly  summoning  up  courage,  I  begged  him,  as  a 
particular  favor,  not  to  mention  my  imprudent  observa- 
tion to  his  aunt. 

'O,  I  have  already  told  her,'  he  said.  'I  am  sorry 
enough  since  you  did  not  wish  it. ' 

'  Did  not  wish  it ! '  I  echoed  in  dismay,  and  with  a  sud- 
den burst  of  anger  throwing  down  my  mallet.  '  How 
could  you  think  of  such  a  thing  ?  I  cannot  stay — I  will 
go  home  at  once — I  shall  never  dare  look  her  in  the  face 
again  f ' 

'  O  she  thought  it  charming,  positively  charming,  you 
know  ?  So  truthful,  so  sweetly  simple.'  And  he  copied 
Mrs.  Desmond's  tone  so  exactly,  that  I  felt  like  laughing, 
although  I  moved  indignantly  away. 

'  Perhaps  she  never  said  anything  of  the  kind,'  he  be- 
gan, running  after  me  as  I  walked  quickly  across  the 
lawn.  '  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  believe  that  I  told 
her — I  really  make  so  many  mistakes.' 

'You  have  made  a  very  serious  one  this  time,'  I  said 
haughtily,  'in  offering  me  such  direct  impertinence,'  and 
I  walked  on,  he  striving  to  keep  up  with  me,  his  mallet 
slung  over  his  shoulder  and  his  straw  hat  pushed  back 
on  his  thick  curls. 

4 1  ask  ten  thousand  pardons,  Miss  Barbara,'  he  began 


96  CLOVERLT. 

most  humbly,  '  I— I  hardly  know  how  to  express  my  pen- 
itence.' 

I  looked  up  in  his  face,  saw  his  blue  eyes  twinkling, 
and  his  mouth  gravely  drawn  down  to  repress  a  smile.  I 
was  more  indignant  than  ever,  but  before  I  c'ould  say  a 
word  Miss  Desmond  hurried  after  us,  calling  out  '  We 
are  waiting  for  your  play,  Miss  Barbara.  Did  you  think 
the  game  ended,  that  you  and  Mr.  Huntington  were  walk- 
ing away  at  such  a  furious  rate  ? ' 

'  The  game  ?  O  I  beg  pardon,'  and  I  turned  back.  I 
noticed  that  she  called  iny  companion  Mr.  Huntington, 
and  he  with  a  ready  grace  had  taken  off  his  hat  to  mako 
her  a  low  bow. 

'At  least  you  have  not  forgotten  your  manners  with 
your  cousin,'  I  said  tartly,  as  I  stepp'ed  back  to  his  side  a 
moment.  '  It  is  so  pleasant  to  think  there  are  circum- 
stances in  life  when  you  can  be  a  gentleman. ' 

He  started.  '  My  cousin  ?  O  you  mean  Miss  Desmond 
— why,  she  is  not  my  cousin  at  all — the  relationship  ex- 
ists solely  between  her  mother  and  me. ' 

I  stood  still  a  moment,  wondering  what  he  meant, — if 
it  was  a  spirit  of  badinage  that  seemed  as  natural  to  him 
as  breathing,  or  simply  disrespect.  I  had  a  consciousness 
amounting  to  almost  certainty  that  he  was  laughing  at 
me  slily  in  his  sleeve.  The  color  came  into  my  cheeks 
at  the  bare  thought.  What  should  I  do  ?  Nothing,  Meg 
would  advise,  I  was  sure.  I  had  done  too  much  already  ; 
so  I  finished  my  game  without  as  much  as  a  glance  at 
Mr.  Huntingtou,  and  having  won  my  laurel,  I  walked 
away,  longing  to  be  alone.  So  far  the  day  had  been  full 
of  mortification  to  me.  I  wanted  to  hunt  Meg  up  and 
tell  her  the  whole  thing,  and  beg  to  know  if  I  had  made 


THE   GARDEN'    PARTY.  97 

myself  very  ridiculous,  when  Mr.  Huntington.  came  up 
to  me  again. 

'You  must  not  go  away  until  you  have  forgiven  me,' 
he  said.  '  I  am  just  like  a  school-boy  on  a  vacation,  down 
here,  and  the  impulse  of  mischief  is  irresistible.  I  have 
been  so  rude  that  I  can  only  sue  for  forgiveness,  not 
claiming  it  as  a  right.  I  am  a  beggar  before  you,  Miss 
Barbara, — you  will  not  say  me  nay.' 

This  time  he  was  in  earnest.  I  muttered  something  in 
which  he  was  just  able  to  distinguish  '  It  is  of  no  conse- 
quence— pray  do  not  mention  it  again '  ;  and  then  Mr. 
Homans  took  Miss  Desmond  and  me  to  have  a  trial  at 
archery,  my  spirits  rising  a  little  when  I  was  fairly  rid  of 
Mr.  Huntington. 

Once  while  we  were  resting  under  the  trees  I  said  care- 
lessly  to  my  companion  '  Was  it  Mr.  Huntington  with 
whom  I  was  playing  croquet  ?  One  is  so  apt  to  get  names 
confused  when  one  meets  so  many  strangers. ' 

'Yes,'  she  replied.  '  He  is  a  friend,  or  rather  an  ac- 
quaintance of  Mr.  Aymar.  He  is  down  here  now  with 
his  yacht  for  a  few  weeks'  pleasure,  I  believe.  Mamma 
used  to  know  his  friends  in  the  city,  but  we  have  never 
met  him  until  to-day.  I  think  him  very  agreeable.' 

'Very  impertinent,'  I  inwardly  commented,  but  this 
time  I  prudently  kept  my  thoughts  to  myself,  though  I 
was  amazed  at  the  young  gentleman's  assurance.  Mrs. 
Desmond  his  aunt ! — of  course  he  had  been  making  fun  of 
me  all  the  time. 

By  and  by  I  strayed  into  the  cool  drawing  room,  where, 
finding  it  full  of  strangers,  and  realizing  for  the  first 
time  that  one  is  never  so  entirely  alone  as  in  a  crowd,  I 
took  to  examining  the  pictures  furtively  ;  after  a  little,  as 
no  one  seemed  to  notice  me,  I  rolled  my  chair  before  au 


98  CLOVEELY. 

easel  on  which  was  standing  an  exquisite  copy  of  the 
Siballa  Lamia.  It  was  a  pleasure  that  I  had  not  expect- 
ed to  enjoy,  and  I  had  it  all  to  myself  for  some  time,  when 
a  laughing  voice  said,  close  to  my  elbow,  '  I  hope  you 
have  dreamed  a  long  enough  dream  over  that  wretched 
old  picture.  I  have  been  looking  at  you  for  nearly  ten 
minutes  steadily,  trying  to  find  out  for  myself  if  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  soul  recognition,  or  affinity, — that  sort  of 
electric  flash  by  which  one  recognizes  a  kindred  spirit, 
you  know.' 

'  I  could  have  told  you  in  less  time  than  that, '  I  said 
without  turning  around. 

'  I  hope  devoutly  that  your  study  was  as  interesting  as 
mine,'  he  went  on. 

'Hove  good  pictures,' I  replied  gravely,  as  my  new 
found  friend  dropped  into  the  velvet  chair  at  my  side. 

'And  this  is  a  very  good  one,  I  am  told.  I  never  state 
these  things  upon  my  own  belief.  I  have  a  morbid  hor- 
ror of  being  considered  a  connoisseur  in  anything.  Pray 
how  did  you  succeed  with  the  arrows  ?  I  have  not  had  a 
glimpse  of  you  since  you  so  cruelly  broke  up  our  cro- 
quet. ' 

'  I  did  not  break  up  the  game,'  I  answered.  '  You  will 
please  remember  that  I  came  off  victorious.' 

'But  you  would  only  play  the  one  game.' 

'  You  know  the  reason  very  well,'  I  said  tartly.  'And 
I  asked  Miss  Desmond  about  you, — she  never  met  you, 
you  know,  until  to-day.  And  you  have  been  laughing  in 
your  sleeve  to  think  how  you  humbugged  me, — is  that 
what  you  call  society  manners  ?  ' 

'  You  are  longing  to  quarrel  again,  and  I  am  doing  my 
best  to  atone  for  my  misconduct.  I  hardly  call  that  fair. 


THE   GARDEN   PARTY.  99 

It  is  pursuing  a  disadvantage.  I  believe  in  giving  every 
one  a  chance. ' 

'By  all  means.  You  shall  have  yours.  Begin  the 
proper  style  of  conversation  at  once.' 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair  and  said  in  a  sep- 
ulchral voice,  4. 

'Charming  evening,  Miss.' 

'Very,'  I  replied  shortly. 

'  O  is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ?  Most  young  ladies 
would  prolong  the  reply  to  such  a  highly  original  re- 
mark. It  admits  of  endless  ramifications,  and  is  hydra- 
headed  as  an  old  fashioned  sermon.  We  shall  never  get 
on  unless  you  are  more  diffusive.' 

'  I  never  imagined  we  should  get  on  at  all,'  I  replied. 

'You  are  doing  better,'  he  commended.  'Anything 
but  a  conversation  in  monosyllables.  It  is  a  lovely  eve- 
ning, is  it  not  ?  ' 

'You  said  that  once  before. 

'  No,  I  said  it  was  charming.  Are  you  enjoying  your- 
self this  evening  ? ' 

'  I  cannot  say  that  I  am,'  and  this  time  I  indulged  in  a 
half  smile.  '  I  think  so  far  it  has  been  wretchedly 
stupid. ' 

'  Well,  all  these  things  are  more  or  less  heavy,'  with  a 
comprehensive  wave  of  his  hand,  including  everybody 
and  everything,  except  the  bay  window  where  we  two 
indolently  sat.  '  But,  upon  the  whole,  I  find  country 
people  better  than  I  expected.  I  wouldn't  dare  say  this 
to  you  if  I  bad  not  been  informed  yon  were  fresh  from 
the  city,  you  know.  And  you  like  pictures  too.  Now 
really,  this  looks  almost  pretty  enough  to  be  a  picture.' 

The  long  drawing  room  had  been  gradually  filling  while 
we  had  been  talking.  The  servants  stepped  noiselessly 


100  CLOVERLY. 

around,  lighting  the  tall  wax  candles  in  the  candelal  >ra 
and  tipping  the  chandeliers  with  flame,  while  others  were 
serving  dainty  cakes  and  ices  on  silver  trays.  It  was  iii- 
dsed  a  pretty  picture,  and  one  the  like  of  which  I  had 
never  seen  before.  The  rooms  were  delightfully  cool  af- 
ter the  heat  of  the  garden,  and  every  window  was  open  to 
the  beautiful  mid-Summer  night.  There  were  about  as 
many  flowers  in  the  drawing  room  as  in  the  beds  out- 
side, and  the  many  tapers  twinkled  with  a  subdued  radi- 
ance in  the  long  mirrors,  and  on  the  shining  furniture. 
Mrs.  Desmond  flitted  from  one  guest  to  the  other,  all 
smiles  and  pleasant  words,  but  neither  my  companion  or 
I  spoke  of  her  again.  He  did  not  show  the  least  disposi- 
tion to  leave  me,  and  so  after  a  time  I  gave  up  being  rude 
to  him. 

There  is  no  age  like  sixteen  for  throwing  aside  care  and 
making  the  most  of  a  pleasure.  We  drifted  step  by  step 
into  idle  chat  and  jest,  commenting  with  perfect  audaci- 
ty upon  the  crowd  about  us,  Mr.  Huntington  leading  me 
on  until  I  was  almost  aghast  at  my  own  boldness.  Now 
that  I  had  overcome  my  first  feeling  of  vexation,  I  could 
look  up  at  him  sometimes  as  we  talked,  and  saw  that  he 
was  indeed  quite  young,  with  blonde  hair  of  the  latest 
and  most  approved  style  of  coloring,  and  an  incipient 
moustache  just  making  pretensions  to  notice  upon  his 
upper  lip.  I  had  lost  all  sense  of  shyness,  and  had  en- 
tirely forgotten  that  I  wore  one  of  Meg's  dresses,  which 
had  been  made  a  proper  length  by  much  piecing  out  at 
the  top.  Those  are  the  bits  of  concealment  in  our  lives— 
girls'  Iiv3s — full  of  such  paltry  nothings,  such  endless 
gorings  and  turnings  of  back  breadths — setting  on  a  bit 
of  trimming  to  hide  a  piece,  cleaning  and  furbishing  up 
of  ribbons  and  gloves.  For  some  people  life  must  be  one 


THE    GARDEN    PARTY.  101 

long  makeshift  to  keep  up  appearances.  I  wonder  if 
it  isn't  so  with  all  of  us,  just  to  make  the  one  garment 
'  white  and  pure, '  which  we  may  all  wear  one  day,  if  we 
are  counted  worthy,  seem  infinitely  more  beautiful  and 
unlike  any  raiment  of  earthly  fashioning.  It  is  a  comfort 
to  think  that  some  time  all  this  endless  worry  of  dress 
must  end.  And  yet,  though  this  one  sobar  thought  flit- 
ted through  my  mind,  it  was  gone  in  an  instant,  and  I 
leaned  back  in  my  chair,  sipping  chocolate  from  a  tiny 
cup  as  I  bandied  jests  with  my  new  acquaintance. 

Opposite  me,  under  one  of  the  chandeliers,  Flo  sat 
tranquilly,  with  her  golden  hair  resting  against  the  pale 
blue  satin  of  the  chair,  her  eyelids  drooping  over  her  vio- 
let eyes,  her  hands  dropped  lightly  in  her  lap,  and  her 
whole  face  and  attitude  suggestive  of  the  most  perfect 
repose. 

'What  a  crowd  she  has  here  to-night,' said  my  com- 
panion. 'I  love  to  look  at  people  and  watch  their  faces, 
oniy,  from  our  seat,  it  all  looks  like  a  pantomime  gotten 
up  for  our  especial  benefit.  I'd  much  rather  hear  some 
of  the  remarks.  Just  look  at  Mr.  Aymar.  How  slowly 
he  eats,  and  how  he  rolls  up  his  eyes  at  that  pretty  girl 
in  blue  ribbons.  Now  there's  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight. 
That's  the  beautiful  Miss  Flo  that  we  played  croquet 
with,  isn't  it  ? ' 

'Yes,'  I  said,  'that's  Flo,  my  sister,'  my  cheeks  crim- 
soning with  pleasure.  '  Isn't  she  lovely  ?— and  of  course 
she  is  entertaining  a  clergyman — that's  what  she  always 
does,  only  this  one  looks  too  unsophisticated  and  youth- 
ful to  waste  one's  time  over.' 

'  O,  Aymar's  a  good  fellow  enough,'  said  my  new  friend 
carelessly,  'a  trifle  young,  but  we  can't  .all  be  old  and 
dignified  at  one  stride,  you  know,'  stroking  the  blonde 


102  CLOVEKLY. 

down  of  his  upper  lip  affectionately.  'Do  you  dance? 
I  presume  they  will  begin  the  German  soon.  But  per- 
haps they  don't  dance,  down  here.' 

'I  don't  know,'  I  said.  '  I  never  saw  the  German,  and 
I  don't  know  anything  about  the  fashion.  This  is  my 
first  party,  you  will  please  remember.  I  suppose  you 
•will  say  now  that  I  am  the  one  to  be  called  unsophisti- 
cated. ' 

Just  then  the  moon  glided  up  over  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  and  sent  a  shaft  of  light  through  the  vine-covered 
trellis  where  we  sat.  Stealthily  as  a  thief  in  the  night, 
the  pale  shadowy  fingers  of  the  ghostly  moonlight  grasp- 
ed the  delicate  vines,  touching  them  here  and  there  with 
little  patches  of  quivering  color,  weaving  out  of  them,  as 
it  were,  a  ladder  upon  which  to  climb  and  peep  in  upon 
the  pretty  scene,  trying  to  see  what  a  garden  party,  when 
daylight  was  over,  might  turn  out  to  be. 

'  Since  you  do  not  dance,  will  you  come  into  the  gar- 
den, Maud  ? '  Mr.  Huntington  said  with  an  elaborate 
bow,  and  drawing  my  arm  witbin  his  own  we  went  out 
together  into  the  moon-lit  night.  On  the  grass-plafc  we 
overtook  two  or  three  couples  taking  the  same  direction 
we  were,  down  to  the  rustic  seats  overlooking  the  bay. 
Flo  and  Mr.  Aymar  were  among  them.  She  had  her 
white  shawl  wrapped  about  her  throat,  and  looked  more 
like  a  beautiful  spirit  than  ever,  so  Mr.  Huntington  said. 
They  were  talking  very  earnestly,  and  as  they  paced  slow- 
ly by  us  I  heard  him  say  gravely,  '  Every  word  that  He 
spoke  to  those  Hebrew  men  and  women  of  old,  He  re- 
peats to  us  to-day.  It  is  like  trying  to  work  out  a  prob- 
lem for  ourselves.  If  we  fail  God  lets  us  take  the  key, 
"I  am  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life."  We  may  go 
through  theory  after  theory,  and  lose  ourselves  in  a  fog 


THE    GARDEN    PARTY.  103 

of  speculation  and  doubt,  but  we  can  always  find  the  key 
if  we  come  back  to  His  Own  Word.  That  is  the  beauty 
of  it  all — the  unchangeableness — it  is  an  attribute  so 
wholly  G-od's — "the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for- 
ever".' 

'Thea  it  is  not  like  working  out  a  problem,'  said  Flo 
softly.  '  We  hold  the  key  from  the  very  beginning. ' 

They  passed  slowly  out  of  sight  under  the  trees,  while 
we  sat  down  and  watched  the  light  shimmer  and  fade  over 
the  water,  -and  lose  itself  finally  in  the  soft  mists  that  en- 
closed it.  I  do  not  think  that  we  talked  quite  as  much 
nonsense  as  we  did  at  first.  The  quiet  of  the  evening, 
and  Flo's  grave  conversation  with  Mr.  Aymar,  had  sub- 
dued us ;  yet  we  were  only  two  children  after  all,  out  on 
a  holiday  for  the  first  time  in  our  lives— what  sensible 
thing  could  be_expected  of  either  of  us  ?  I  found  out 
that  his  name  was  Neal,  that  he  had  never  been  in  any 
business  in  his  life,  and  that  he  was  here,  not  to  visit  Mr. 
Ayinar,  but  to  cruise  around  in  his  yacht,  and  make  out 
the  veriest  idling  expedition  in  the  world. 

We  staid  out  there  under  the  trees  talking  just  as  easi- 
ly as  if  we  two  had  a  hundred  ideas  in  common,  and  were 
the  oldest  friends  imaginable — we  who  had  never  met 
until  to-day — until  Nat  and  Meg  caine  in  search  of  us, 
exclaiming  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  Mr.  Aymar  and 
Flo  were  with  them,  and  we  followed  after,  strolling  lei- 
surely along  through  the  winding  garden  path,  saying 
good-night  to  the  Desmonds  in  the  long  hall,  then  stray- 
ing out  again  with  a  goodly  crowd  of  young  people,  who 
all  seemed  to  be  making  their  adieus  in  detachments. 
Mr.  Huntington  and  I  walked  on  in  front,  with  Meg,  Nat, 
Mr.  Aymar,  and  Flo  bringing  up  the  rear,  walked  arm  in 
arm  along  the  pleasant  road-side,  under  the  dark  old  trees, 


104  CLOVERLT. 

with  the  moon  still  shining  over  the  level  landscape  and 
glorifying  everything  in  its  calm  and  mellow  light.  "We 
talked  as  we  had  begun  from  the  very  first — not  in  the 
low,  rapt  way  that  Mr.  Aymar  and  Flo  were  talking,  but 
with  that  easy,  jesting,  common-place  pleasantry,  that 
seems  to  bound  the  conversation  of  the  young. 

'I  say,  Aymar,'  said  my  new  friend  as  we  all  lingered 
together  for  a  moment  at  the  gate,  '  walk  part  of  the  way 
home  with  me,  for  it's  too  lovely  a  night  by  far  to  think 
of  wasting  it  in  sleep.  I'm  good  for  a  couple  of  miles  yet, 
and  I've  two  cigars  left  in  my  case.  By  the  way,  Miss 
Barbara,  I've  been  dying  to  light  a  match  for  the  last 
half-hour.  See  what  you  have  to  answer  for  ! ' 

Before  I  could  reply,  Mr.  Aymar  said  in  a  very  stately 
way  that  he  never  smoked. 

'  O  by  Jove  !  that's  no  excuse,'  responded  the  irrepres- 
sible Neal,  'you  can  walk  all  the  same,' and  he  drew 
the  young  clergyman's  arm  within  his  own. 

I  expected  another  disclaimer,  but  Mr.  Aymar  laugh- 
ingly said  'Very  well,'  and  then  both  gentlemen  took  off 
their  hats,  made  profound  bows,  and  turned  away. 

'  Iain  going  to  make  Mr.  Aymar  my  confessor,  to-night,' 
whispered  Mr.  Huntington.  '  Shall  I  tell  him  all  your 
delinquencies  of  the  evening,  Miss  Barbara  ?  He  is  a 
relative,  too.  Your  imprudent  conversation  will  make  a 
great  stir  in  the  community. ' 

'You will  tell  him  nothing  of  tho  kind,'  I  retorted,  and 
then  I  caught  Meg's  arm  as  we  walked  slowly  up  the  walk. 

Meg  made  only  one  remark  to  me  before  I  wont  to  bed. 
She  was  too  tired  and  sleepy  to  say  anything  sensible,  she 
admitted,  but  '  You  made  an  impression,  Bab,  my  love, 
in  your  borrowed  finery  ;-a  decided  impression,  I  should 
say,  only  I  want  to  hear  all  about  it  in  the  morning.  I 


THE    GARDEN    PARTY. 


105 


have  played  croquet  until  I  am  a  mere  wreck  of  Meg 
Fox.  Mooning  about  under  the  trees,  left  you  decidedly 
fresh,  I  should  say.' 

And  Meg  dropped  off  into  sleep,  while  I  followed  more 
leisurely,  waking  up  once  or  twice  in  a  sort  of  fright  at 
finding  myself  face  to  face  with  Mrs.  Desmond,  while 
Mr.  Aymar  in  a  black  silk  gown  was  acting  as  arbiter 
between  us. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LONGINGS. 

The  next  morning  we  all  dropped  in  at  breakfast,  one 
after  the  other,  I,  laggard  that  I  -was,  bringing  up  the 
rear. 

'  Come  here,'  said  father,  putting  out  his  arms  for  a 
morning  kiss,  '  and  tell  me  all  about  your  first  party,  my 
dear.  How  did  you  enjoy  it  ? ' 

'  It  was  a  little  dull  at  first,  and  I  was  shy,  but  all  that 
passed  away,  and  after  a  time  I  felt  as  if  I  had  always 
been  out  in  company.'  And  then  we  all  began  talking 
at  once,  after  the  usual  family  fashion. 

'I  thought  it  lovely,'  said  Meg.  'I  never  played  so 
many  games  of  croquet  in  my  life.' 

'  Dear  me  ! '  chimed  in  Bess,  '  I  wish  I  were  old  enough 
to  go  out  too.' 

'  I  thought  I  had  a  lucky  escape,'  said  Bob,  attacking 
breakfast  with  a  vigor  that  was  lacking  in  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  family. 

'  O  if  you  had  gone  you  would  have  liked  it  as  much 
as  I  did,'  I  said.  '  Everybody  looked  so  pretty — there 
was  a  great  deal  of  dress,  and  the  house  and  grounds  are 
just  elegant.  And  we,  of  course,  were  so  fascinating.  I 
dare  say  all  the  strangers  took  us  at  our  very  best,  and 
pronounced  us  a  lovely  family.' 

'  I've  no  doubt  of  it,'  agreed  Nat.  '  It  was  really  a  very 
pretty  festa  on  the  whole — effective  enough  to  suit  even 
Mrs.  Desmond.  There  was  croquet  on  the  lawn,  and  a 
sort  of  bower  fitted  up  for  archery,  and  ices  and  cakes 
were  served  at  little  tables  on  the  piazza,  in  the  garden, 


LONGINGS.  107 

under  the  trees,  and  in  the  drawing-room  as  well.  And 
flowers  and  ferns  were  waving  everywhere,  and  we  had 
the  latest  boots  and  prints  to  look  over,  and  music — 
very  good  music  too  ;  but  I  thought  Flo's  singing  quite 
equal  to  anything  that  was  offered  in  that  line.' 

'And  whom  did  you  play  croquet  with,  Meg  ? '  said 
mother  with  a  pleased  smile. 

'Ah  !  whom  did  I  not  play  with,  you  had  better  ask.  I 
feel  as  if  I  knew  the  whole  world  now.  It  is  quite  true 
— you  need  not  laugh.  Mrs.  Desmond  introduced  us  in  a 
general  sort  of  way  to  everybody,  and  we  all  felt  acquaint- 
ed in  a  moment.  Bab  may  laugh  at  Mrs.  Desmond,  but 
she  is  the  very  person  to  give  company.  One  feels  at 
ease  at  once.' 

'  I  wonder  howmother  would  look,'  said  I,  '  all  trigged 
out  in  a  little  lace  cap,  her  ribbons  and  flounciugs  flying 
out  like  so  many  banners,  saying  the  same  nonsensical 
compliments  over  and  over  again.' 

'  O  she'd  look  dreadful ! '  interrupted  Meg,  holding 
up  both  hands;  '  don't  conjure  up  such  an  absurd  vision. 
I  can't  think  of  mother  in  any  other  way  than  in  a  soft 
grey  or  black  gown — it  must  always  be  some  soft  materi- 
al ;  a  rustling  silk  would  work  a  complete  metamorphosis 
— and  then  I  don't  know — I  think  I  like  best  the  nice  white 
apron  and  the  matronly  cap,  that  isn't  quite  a  cap  nor 
yet  a  head-dress,  but  a  something  between  the  two,  tbat 
makes  it  just  mother's,  and  nobody  else's — don't  you,  fa- 
ther ? ' 

'I  don't  think  anything  about  it,  I  know,'  said  father 
conclusively.  '  It  wouldn't  do  for  mother  to  be  any- 
thing but  mother,  for  me.' 

'  Or  for  any  of  us,'  cried  Bob. 

'  But  she  would  look  just  as  beautiful  in  a  soft  grey 


LOO  CLOVERLY. 

silk,  or  a  rich  black,'  said  Meg.  '  I  don't  think  it  is  wick- 
ed to  be  proud  of  one's  mother,  particularly  when  she 
happens  to  be  the  dearest  little  lady  alrve.  I  think  she 
•is  just  lovely,  sitting  here  with  her  husband  and  her  six 
hopefuls  around  her;  but  I  looked  at  Mrs.  Desmond  last 
night  and '  I  did  -wish  mother  could  have  things  and  do 
things  like  the  rest  of  the  world.' 

'1  think  mother  is  contented  with  her  lot  just  as  it  is,' 
said  father  ;  '  aren't  you,  Nelly  ?  ' 

And  mother  said  'Yes,  Jim,'  in  that  settled,  quiet  way 
of  hers,  as  she  poured  coffee  in  the  delicate  china  cups, 
laughing  a  little  at  her  children's  folly — a  pleasant,  mo- 
therly laugh — all  the  comfort  and  peace  in  the  world 
bubbled  up  into  it. 

'I  didn't  want  you  in  anybody's  place,' said  Flo.  'I 
was  glad  all  the  time  to  think  of  you  just  as  you  are.' 

'  O  if  we  had  to  take  Mrs.  Desmond  along  with  the 
silk  dresses  and  fine  things,  that  would  end  the  matter  at 
once, 'I  concluded.  'I  couldn't  think  of  anything  but 
a  fishing  smack  in  a  high  sea,  every  sail  set  and  stream- 
ers flying,  when  she  went  courtesjing  about  among  the 
crowd — and  it  was  too  funny  if  one  only  caught  scraps  of 
the  conversation.  She  is  just  like  a  character  in  a  novel.' 

'  Nonsense, '  said  Nat.  '  She  doesn't  say  sensible  things 
enough  to  put  in  a  book. ' 

'  But  all  books  are  not  sensible,  Nat,  my  son.' 

'  Nor  all  women,'  added  father, 

'  That  reminds  me,'  I  said,  dropping  my  voice,  '  do  tell 
me,  Flo,  how  you  liked  Mr.  Aymar.  Is  he  very  solemn 
and  awful  ? ' 

'  Neither  one  nor  the  other.  He  is  a  very  agreeable 
young  man.  Earnest — ' 

(O  yes,' I  interrupted,  'earnest  enough.     I  heard  you 


LONGINGS.  109 

and  he  talking  in  the  most  solemn  strain — it  must  have 
been  fearfully  stupid.' 

'No,  no,'  said  Flo,  'anything  but  stupid.  For  one 
thing  we  were  arranging  for  the  n~w  school.  Edith  Des- 
mond is  goiug  to  carry  out  her  plan  of  a  mission  among 
the  fishermen's  children.  She  and  I  are  going  to  see  if 
we  cannot  get  up  a  little  interest  among  them.' 

'  O  I  dare  say  they'll  be  interested  in  you,  Flo,  at  all 
odds.  You  don't  know  how  prttty  you  were  last  eight.' 

But  Flo  put  her  hand  over  my  lips  :  '  Don't  talk  so, 
Barbara.  How  you  did  rattle  on  last  night,  as  if  you 
were  possessed  by  some  mischievous  spirit.  And  this 
Mr.  Huntington,  who  is  he  ? ' 

'A  relation  of  half  the  country-side,  if  one  were  to  be- 
lieve his  statements.  Candidly,  I  haven't  the  faintest 
idea  who  he  is,  only  that  he  must  be  strictly  the  thing, 
since  Mrs.  Desmond  introduces  him.  But  what  audacity  ! 
Meg,  did  you  notice  how  he  said  "Ay mar,"  and  "By 
Jove,"  and  offered  him  cigars  ? ' 

'  It's  no  sin  to  smoke,'  said  Nat. 

'Very  true,'  rejoined  Flo,  'but  he  treated  Mr.  Aymar 
with  but  little  of  the  dignity  and  respect  due  his  profes- 
sion. I  can't  say  I  admired  his  manners,  and  yet  when 
I  talked  with  him  at  croquet,  I  liked  him  very  much. ' 

'  So  did  I,'  chimed  in  Meg. 

'And  I  was  with  him  more  than  either  of  you,'  said  I, 
'and  I  cannot  endure  the  sight  of  him.' 

'Bather  strong  language,' said  father,  'for  my  little 
girl.  Who  are  you  talking  about,  pray  ? ' 

'O  that  wretched  Mr.  Huntington,'  I  said  rather  tart- 
ly, for  I  had  '  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him.' 

1  You  managed  to  flirt  ridiculously  with  that  wretched 
Mr.  Huntington,  1 1  appened  to  notice,'  said  Meg. 


110  CLOVERLY. 

'  O  I  had  to  do  something.  He  was  so  insufferably 
rude  the  first  part  of  the  evening. ' 

'  Well,  that  is  a  new  reason  for  a  flirtation.  I  suppos- 
ed that  people  always  chose  agreeable  subjects  to  prac- 
tice upon. ' 

'  Is  that  the  reason  Flo  had  so  much  to  say  to  Mr.  Ay- 
mar?' 

'  Mr.  Aymar  ? '  and  Flo's  cheeks  were  tinged  with 
just  the  faintest  rose,  '  he  was  agreeable  and  courteous, 
but  very  grave  for  a  young  man.  I  don't  believe  he 
thought  of  anything  so  idle  as  a  flirtation,  and  I  am  very 
sure  that  I  did  not.' 

'I  am  glad  then  that  one  person  could  be  sensible.  I 
never  felt  more  insulted  in  my  life  than  with  Mr.  Hunt- 
ington's  silly  jokes.' 

'  What  were  they  ? '  asked  Nat,  flaring  up. 

'  O  nothing,  very  much ;  only  I  felt  like  a  fool.  He 
thinks  Flo  a  perfect  beauty.' 

'  You  needn't  have  felt  like  &  fool  about  that,'  said  Nat. 
'I  think  he  has  uncommon  good  taste.' 

'  O  it  wasn't  that,'  I  replied  a  little  snappishly  ;  'it  was 
ever  and  ever  so  much  before  that.  I  don't  like  him,  and 
I  am  quite  certain  that  I  shall  never  have  anything  to 
say  to  him  again.' 

'A  very  Barbarous  conclusion,'  spoke  up  Bob.  '  I  had 
hoped,  Barbara,  my  love,  that  for  once  in  your  life  you 
would  find  out  the  true  meaning  of  the  word  felicity — to 
say  nothing  of  making  an  impression  in  your  borrowed 
clothes.' 

'Ah,  Bobby  ! '  whispered  I,  '  for  once  in  my  life  I've 
met  somebody  worse  than  you.  I  shall  never  feel  your 
satire  after  this. ' 

Bat  that  was  all  the  information  that  I  vouchsafed  to 


LONGINGS.  Ill 

any  one  of  nv$  mortifications  of  tlie  evening  before  ;  not 
even  to  Meg  did  I  confess  my  imprudent  speech ;  but 
having,  as  I  said,  made  Tip  my  mind  to  bury  Caesar,  I 
tried  to  forget  all  about  him.  We  had  talked  more  of 
gentlemen  and  flirtation  at  breakfast,  than  we  had  ever 
talked  before  in  all  our  lives.  '  The  natural  result  of  go- 
ing out,'  mother  said  with  a  half  sigh,  as  she  listened  to 
us.  'I  don't  like  the  idea  of  my  children  growing  up 
and  running  away  from  me  into  the  world.' 

'  But  we  are  not  going  to  run  away,'  said  Nat.  '  I,  for 
one,  am  going  to  stay  at  home  all  the  days  of  my  life. 
Just  this  little  glimpse  of  the  outside  world  makes  me 
want  to  cling  to  it  all  the  closer.  You  can  always  count 
on  me,  mother.' 

'And  on  me,  and  on  me,'  we  cried  all  together  ;  and. 
then  father  laughed  and  said, 

'As  long  as  you  defy  all  rules  of  propriety,  and  talk  at 
once,  and  keep  up  such  a  perpetual  uproar,  mother  and 
I  can  count  with  perfect  certainty  upon  you  all.' 

Up  to  this  time  we  had  really  troubled  ourselves  very 
little  about  the  future — that  is,  the  future  that  young 
girls  usually  look  forward  to.  Flirtation  was  a  thing  we 
had  never  talked  about  until  this  morning,  and  love  and 
mariiage  never  entered  into  our  dreams.  We  lived  our 
lives,  enjoying  and  making  the  most  of  everything  as  we 
went  along ;  and  the  merest  children  yet,  so  far  as  the 
experiences  of  life  went.  Sometimes  indeed  Meg  and  I 
would  lay  out  a  wonderful  future  for  Flo — Flo,  our  beau- 
tiful sister — for  whom  something  great  and  wonderful 
was  in  reserve;  but  as  Meg  said,  that  was  ottr  fairy  tale — 
a  tale  that  we  wrought  into  something  more  beautiful  and 
bewildering  every  time  it  was  repeated.  What  trifles  our 
lives  were  made  up  of ;  little  common-place  nothings — 


112  CLOVEBLY. 

girls'  dreams,  fairy  tales,  a  little  thought,  a  little  simple 
reasoning,  -which  we  mistook  for  wisdom — and  so  day  by 
day  our  lives  were  shaped,  and  rounded,  and  made  ready 
{or  the  future,  and  we  scarcely  knew  or  gave  heed.  It  is 
true  I  used  to  wonder  in  a  vaguy  sort  of  way,  if  our  fami- 
ly would  ever  break  up  like  other  families — scattered  to 
the  very  ends  of  the  earth,  it  might  be.  If  Nat  were  to 
have  a  home  and  interests  of  his  own,  and  Bob  start  off 
on  a  voyage  around  the  world — it  would  be  just  like  Bob 
to  do  the  wildest  sort  of  thing.  I  never  thought  of  what 
Meg  would  do,  she  and  I  were  always  to  slay  together — 
that  was  one  of  the  things  that  was  foreordained  ;  bat 
Flo  was  to  meet  her  Prince  and  go  away  into  an  enchant- 
ed land,  where  we  were  none  of  us  good  enough  to  fol- 
low. Would  the  old  house  be  lonely  without  the  young 
voices,  and  would  we  ever  learn  to  be  content  one  with- 
out the  other,  and  speak  and  think,  as  many  do,  of  far- 
away relatives  ?  People  do  sometimes  forget  when  they 
grow  old. 

I  had  other  thoughts  too.  I  wished  that  I  could  be 
really  good.  I  had  been  good  several  times,  in  my  own 
opinion,  and  then  given  it  up  as  something  too  hard  for 
such  a  nature  as  mine  to  understand.  I  had  times  of 
lofty  aspiration,  and  times  of  great  mental  depression, 
but  I  could  never  feel  for  one  moment  anything  like 
Meg's  joyousness  or  Flo's  serenity  and  peace.  Flo  had 
been  just  the  same  from  early  childhood,  and  it  seemed 
only  natural  that  the  perfect  bud  should  bloom  into  the 
beautiful  rose,  the  fairest  flower  in  our  little  home  gar- 
den. It  was  more  perfect  than  a  fairy  tale — it  was  so 
pure  and  holy,  it  helped  all  with  whom  it  came  in  con- 
tact— just  as  if  in  the  midst  of  one  fairy  tale  we  had  turn- 
ed over  a  leaf  and  come  suddenly  upon  a  bit  of  Bible 


LONGINGS.  113 

story  or  a  quaint  oil  hymn.  But  I,  what  would  the 
page  say  of  me  ?  What  were  the  swift  rolling  years  mak- 
ing me  ?  I  intended  all  the  time  to  be  really  good— it 
would  come  to  me  '  one  of  these  clays,'  I  said  to  myself,  as 
all  the  blessings  of  my  life  had  come,  swiftly  and  sud- 
denly, '  as  a  dream  when  one  awaketh. '  My  heart  was 
full  of  mute  understandings  and  longings,  but  I  was  not 
able  to  reach  the  heights  the  others  had  gained,  and  I 
could  not  feel  the  infinite  tenderness  of  the  hands  which 
were  extended  to  draw  me  up. 

Mother  told  me  that  I  did  not  use  the  right  means  to 
make  myself  any  better,  for  while  both  Meg  and  Plo 
went  into  the  Church  with  a  zest  and  interest  that  ought 
to  have  carried  me  along  with  it,  I  preferred  to  stay  at 
home  to  paint  my  impossible  pictures,  or  waste  my  time 
in  nonsensical  chat  and  pretended  quarrels  with  Mr. 
Huntington,  who  came  up  to  the  house  a  good  deal,  and 
made  himself  anything  but  a  stranger  with  us.  He  was 
such  a  merry  light-hearted  boy  that  one  could  not  dislike 
him,  though  I  tried  very  hard  to  make  believe  that  I 
did,  and  always  contrived  to  start  some  argument  or 
quarrel  so  that  I  might  oppose  him.  I  had  a  feeling,  too, 
that  he  was  quizzing  me  ever  since  that  eventful  garden 
party  at  Mrs.  Desmond's.  I  don't  kuow  why  he  treated 
me  thus,  unless  he  thought  I  was  too  young  and  silly  to 
be  sensible  with,  for  he  did  not  act  so  with  Meg  and  Flo. 
To  both  of  them  he  was  dignity  itself,  and  to  Flo  he  gave 
the  homage  due  a  queen — or  a  saint,  I  had  better  say,  for 
I  heard  him  say  one  night  that  she  seemed  to  him  as  holy 
as  a  nun,  and  I  remember  I  retorted  with  some  asperity 
that  she  was  vastly  more  so  than  a  nun — but  I  knew  he 
admired  her,  though  he  almost  always  talked  to  me. 

Mr.  Aymar  too  fell  into  the  pleasant  little  unconven- 


1 14  CLOVEKLT. 

tional  ways  of  country  life  as  easily  as  if  lie  Lad  been 
born  aud  bred  among  us.  He  played  croquet  -with  tho 
Desmonds  and  Homans,  and  sometimes  in  the  pleasant 
Summer  twilights,  when  there  was  no  Church  service  or 
parish  visit  on -hand,  he  would  come  over  for  Meg  and 
Flo  to  join  them  ;  and  then  long  walks  on  the  beach  would 
follow,  or  Bella  Desmond  and  Flo  would  sing  duetts  in 
the  pleasant  moon-lit  parlor,  while  the  audience  strayed 
about  among  the  trees-  and  roses  outside.  Mr.  Aymar 
had  certainly  made  himself  a  favorite  with  every  one  but 
me.  Mrs.  Desmond  openly  called  him  her  young  St. 
John,  and  our  own  family  were  almost  as  loud  in  theii 
preference  and  praise.  Meg  and  Flo  joined  hands  with 
the  Desmonds  -and  Homans  in  all  good  works,  atid  Flo 
had  really  settled  down  to  one  of  the  most  engrossing 
duties  of  her  life.  She  was  down  on  the  shore  very  much 
of  the  time  helping  the  poor  people  there  in  a  hundred 
different  ways.  I  never  heard  her  say  much  about  Mr. 
Aymar,  but  I  fancied  that  he  liked  Flo — indeed,  it  would 
have  been  strange  had  he  not — but  I  was  not  at  all  inclin- 
ed to  make  him  the  fairy  prince,  though  until  the  prince 
came  along  I  knew  of  no  one  that  would  suit  Flo  better. 
Mr.  Aymar  had  asked  me  several  times  to  join  the 
ladies  in  their  round  of  visits,  but  I  had  never  paid  any 
attention  to  these  demands  upon  my  time.  I  detested 
the  thought  of  work  among  the  ragged  children  and 
dirty  women,  the  smell  of  drying  fish  and  the  steaming 
of  the  washtubs, — somebody  was  always  washing  in  such 
dismal  places  ;  and  yet  one  was  forced  to  wonder  some- 
times what  was  done  with  the  clean  clothes — the  children 
and  women  were  never  in  anything  but  soiled  frocks. 
But  Mr.  Aymar  did  not  seem  to  mind  it.  He  knew  all 
the  fishermen  along  the  shore,  had  a  pleasant  word  for 


LONGINGS.  115 

the  -wives,  and  a  toss  in  the  air  for  the  babies,  and  often 
would  go  out  for  a  row  with  the  fathers,  was  a  good  hand 
at  hauling  in  the  nets,  and  brought  more  children  in  the 
Sunday-school  than  old  Mr.  Leighton,  with  all  his  good- 
ness, dreamed  that  the  parish  contained.  I  often  laugh- 
ed and  told  Meg  that  I  had  named  him  rightly,  for  he 
was  Jesuitical  and  politic  in  the  highest  degree,  but  in 
my  heart  of  hearts  I  admired  and  liked  him.  It  was  only 
wounded  pride  that  tempered  my  admiration  and  made 
me  perhaps  more  distant  than  I  would  have  been  other- 
wise, for  I  honestly  thought  that  he  disliked  me  ;  and 
that  certainly  was  anything  but  a  pleasant  reflection  for  a 
girl  of  my  age,  who,  without  having  any  particular  love 
for  the  ministry,  would  still  have  been  thankful  to  num- 
ber among  her  adherents  a  man  of  Mr.  Aymar's  stamp. 
No,  he  clearly  disliked  me,  and  I  tried  not  to  care.  He 
had  not  hesitated  to  express  himself  gravely  and  disap- 
provingly as  to  my  lack  of  interest  in  Church  matters, 
and  on  one  or  two  occasions  had  absolutely  lectured  me  ; 
but  I  always  gave  him  some  flippant  reply,  that  seemed 
afterward,  when  I  thought  it  over  coolly,  to  only  widen 
the  gulf  between  us.  After  a  time  it  seemed  that  ha 
rather  avoided  me  than  otherwise,  and  I  could  scarcely 
blame  him.  I  had  certainly  taken  no  pains  to  make  my- 
self agreeable  or-  interesting  to  him.  When  the  other 
young  ladies  bowed  down  and  worshipped,  I  insisted  up- 
on walking  coldly  by  ;  but,  with  a  strange  persistency,  I 
foiind  my  thoughts  dwelling  much  upon  the  young  clergy- 
man, with  his  grave,  disapproving  eyes,  and  boyish  face. 
It  might  have  been  a  keen  sense  of  mortification,  but 
whatever  the  cause,  I  certainly  suffered  my  mind  to  dwell 
upon  the  new  rector  very  much  more  than  I  had  any 
business  to  do. 


116  CLOVERLT. 

Meantime  the  parish  was  waking  up  into  new  life,  and 
I  apparently  the  only  idler  in  it.  It  was  not  enough  to 
have  two  services  on  Sunday,  and  Sunday-school  between, 
but  there  was  an  afternoon  service  on  the  shore  for  the 
fishermen,  their  wives  and  children ;  Mr.  Ayraar  being 
content  to  establish  himself  in  the  little  brown  school- 
house,  and  walk  two  miles  every  Sunday  to  get  there. 
In  rain  or  sunshine  he  was  there  all  the  same,  and  the 
people  soon  began  to  regard  him  from  Mrs.  Desmond's 
standpoint.  The  old  schoolhouse  bloomed  with  flowers 
every  Sunday,  since  adornments  of  other  kinds  could 
not  be  afforded,  and  did  not  know  itself  it  was  so  decked 
out  on  every  festival  and  Saint's  day  ;  and  our  own 
church  was  decorated  in  a  manner  that  would  have  ter- 
rified a  Low  Churchman  into  fears  for  the  souls  of  the 
whole  parish.  Mr.  Leighton  indulgently  smiled  approv- 
al at  the  unusual  goings  on,  shaking  his  head  a  little  over 
his  young  assistant's  advanced  ideas,  but  quite  content  to 
stand  aside  and  entrust  the  reins  of  management  to 
younger  and  abler  hands.  But  it  was  not  merely  in  pet- 
ty adornments  that  Mr.  Aymar  brought  about  a  new 
state  of  things :  a  Mission  school  was  established,  a 
Dorcas  society  organized,  and  district  visiting  among 
the  poor  regularly  gone  on  with.  Saturday  was  Meg  and 
Flo's  day.  They  would  start  out  after  breakfast  with 
little  baskets  on  their  arms,  going  from  house  to  house 
along  the  shore,  dropping  in  only  for  a  talk  with  some, 
persuading  them  into  liking  the  Church,  and  interesting 
the  children  with  pretty  books  and  stories,  or  giving  an 
unexpected  and  trifling  present  occasionally  to  the  very 
poor.  Every  one  knew  and  liked  my  two  sisters,  and  as 
for  Flo,  many  an  old  woman  would  sit  in  her  easy  chair 
by  the  door  and  watch  for  her  coming.  Indeed  it  was  a 


LONGINGS.  Ill 

signal  of  great  rejoicing  among  both  old  and  young  -when 
Flo  came,  for  she  was  not  only  ready  to  give  sympathy 
and  kind  words,  but  she  would  read  to  them  out  of  tho 
Bible  or  some  good  book,  for  she  never  spared  trouble, 
and  was  always  ready  to  help  those  who  helped  them 
selves.  The  children  learned  to  run  after  her  and  give 
her  pretty  shells  and  mosses  that  they  had  picked  up 
along  the  beach — we  laughed  a  good  deal  sometimes  tc 
see  how  carefully  these  relics  were  carried  home,  and 
treasured  up  as  if  they  really  were  treasures. 

All  these  things  I  was  thoroughly  convinced  only  mada 
Mr.  Aymar  dislike  me  more  than  ever,  for  it  was  only  at 
brief  intervals  that  I  woke  up  to  a  sense  of  my  duty,  and 
when  I  did  do  a  charitable  act  or  a  kind  deed,  I  did  it  so 
secretly  that  he  never  could  find  it  out.  No  ;  it  was 
quite  impossible  that  we  could  be  friends. 

Sometimes  I  almost  regretted  that  I  hadn't  joined  the 
parish,  and  tried  to  follow  in  Flo's  footsteps,  though  I  am 
positively  certain  I  should  have  done  something  to  shock 
Mr.  Aymar  before  I  could  have  accomplished  any  good. 

Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  to  be  myself  under  all  cir- 
cumstances. 


CHAPTER  X. 

FLO'S     FAIRY      TALE. 

I  ain  sure  I  thought  I  should  never  have  anything  to 
tell  when  I  began  my  Chronicle — but,  dear  me,  there's  no 
end  to  the  tellings  now,  as  I  think  them  over.  I  sliull 
have  to  give  up  my  picture  aud  begin  the  book,  just  as 
Meg  said  I  would,  oaly  I  wish  I  could  put  the  book  and 
the  picture  both  together  and  make  it  one.  Some  peo- 
ple could — those  to  whom  life  is  all  a  poem  ;  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  I  am  living  out  plain  prose,  straight  on  and 
on,  and  I  couldn't  write  a  story  or  a  novel  if  I  tried.  It 
musb  be  just  a  simple  chronicle  of  home,  that  I  scribblo 
down  on  these  pages,  and  the  pictures  and  the  poems  I 
shall  leave  to  my  dreams. 

And  yet  that  first  Summer  at  Cloverly  -was  bright 
enough  for  any  dream.  If  I  had  ever  indulged  in  any 
flights  of  fancy  about  being  out  of  the  world,  or  in  the 
•wilderness,  this  first  Summer  dissipated  it.  To  begin 
with  the  Desmonds  ;  they  were  certainly  the  leading 
spirits  of  the  place  ;  the  two  daughters  had  friends  from 
the  city  staying  with  them  most  of  the  time,  and  there 
were  endless  little  gaieties  going  on,  croquet,  rides,  walks, 
or  boating  in  the  still  water,  and  sometimes  the  excite- 
ment of  a  sail  in  Mr.  Huntington's  yacht.  The  Etonians 
were  very  intimate  with  the  Desmonds,  and  were  in  and 
out  at  all  times  of  the  day,  as  near  neighbors  are  apt  to 
be  with  plenty  of  time  at  their  own  disposal,  and  every 
accessory  of  wealth  to  add  to  their  enjoyment.  It  was 
maddening  to  meet  them  sometimes  as  we  jogged  along 
the  road  in  our  rattle-trap  phaeton,  with  Dolly's  head 


FLO'S    FAIRY   TALE.  119 

down  and  her  tongue  out — if  only  she  -wouldn't  have  her 
tongue  hanging  out  of  her  mouth,  lite  an  over-worked 
farm  horse ;  but  Meg  would  nod  and  smile  as  good 
humoredly  from  her  low  seat  to  the  young  ladies  who 
dashed  by  in  the  high,  open  carriage,  as  if  our  horse 
were  a  full-blooded  animal  and  we  had  a  liveried  servant 
in  a  rumble  at  our  back.  I  always  flushed  up  and  bowed 
stiffly,  ending  with  a  snappish  '  I'd  like  to  cut  that 
wretched  old  Dolly's  tongue  out.  Don't  you  suppose  the 
Desmonds  and  Homans  are  laughing  themselves  to  death 
over  the  figure  we  cut  ? ' 

'No,  I  don't  suppose  anything  of  the  kind,'  Meg  would 
say  stoutly;  '  and  I,  for  one,  am  grateful  to  Uncle  Janeway 
for  lending  us  the  good,  steady,  old  creature.  We'd  stay 
at  home,  or  trudge  through  the  sand,  but  for  her. '  And 
then  I  would  cool  down  and  accept  the  situation — until 
next  time. 

'Dear  me,  how  many  worries  there  are  in  life,'  I  sigh' 
ed  to  Meg.  '  The  love  of  money  is  the  root  of  all  evil, 
but  it  seems  to  me  the  lack  of  it  caps  the  climax  to  every 
woe.' 

'  If  you  would  only  take  things  as  they  come,  Barbara,' 
she  would  say,  shaking  her  head,  '  or  as  Flo  would  more 
properly  express  it,  as  they  are  sent. ' 

But  it  wasn't  in  my  nature  to  be  submissive,  in  those 
days.  Sometimes  I  wonder  if  I  even  understand  the 
meaning  of  the  word  now. 

We  saw  a  good  deal  of  Mr.  Aymar,  too,  and  I  had  quite 
made  up  my  mind  that  he,  like  all  the  rest  of  our  little 
world,  was  interested  in  Flo.  I  was  continually  watch- 
ing for  our  fairy  tale  to  begin,  only  I  was  but  half  satis- 
fied to  have  Mr.  Aymar  the  prince.  Sometimes,  after 
one  of  these  drives  of  ours,  we  would  meet  them  strolling 


120  CLOYKRLY. 

along  through  the  lane,  the  arms  of  both  filled  with  ferns 
and  wild  flowers,  chatting  together  as  easily  as  if  they 
had  known  each  other  all  their  lives.  And  perhaps  Mr. 
Huntington  would  be  lounging  on  the  piazza  with  mo- 
ther and  Bess,  tying  up  wreaths  for  some  church  decora- 
tion, and  apparently  caring  more  for  a  chat  with  mo- 
ther than  with  her  daughters.  In  that  he  showed  good 
taste,  we  all  acknowledged.  I  did  not  look  with  any 
complacency  upon  Mr.  Aymar's  visits,  although  to  Meg 
I  called  him  the  Prince  as  well  as  a  Jesuit.  And  Meg 
laughed  merrily  at  my  advancing  such  an  idea.  '  But, '  I 
would  ask,  '  if  he  were  not  in  love,  why  did  he  go  moon- 
ing about  with  such  a  preoccupied  air,  strolling  off  in 
the  woods  or  along  the  beach,  and  generally  managing  to 
walk  home  with  Flo,  no  matter  what  direction  she  took  ? ' 
And  that  was  a  question  Miss  Meg  did  not  pretend  to 
answer.  It  was  all  as  clear  as  daylight  to  me.  Unless 
he  were  very  much  in  love,  it  was  surely  no  way  for  a 
minister  to  conduct  -a  man  who  had  souls  to  save,  to 
•waste  so  much  time  in  walking  about  and  gathering  flow- 
ers ;  and  yet  all  the  time  that  I  was  persuading  myself 
into  this  way  of  thinking,  some  little  glimmer  of  light 
seemed  to  come  in  and  show  me  other  contingencies  that 
I  had  never  thought  of  before.  I  could  not  tell  what  it 
was,  or  scarcely  what  I  meant,  but  a  feeling  of  pain  surg- 
ed up  into  my  heart,  and  tears  which  did  not  fall,  moist- 
ened my  eyes  with  a  painful  dew.  I  was  never  satisfied 
with  Mr.  Aymar,  but  now  I  began,  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life,  to  be  vaguely  dissatisfied  with  Flo. 

Sometimes  Mr.  Aymar  condescended  to  unbend  a  little 
in  his  coolness  to  me  ;  he  would  lend  me  a  book,  or  take 
the  trouble  to  drop  a  few  words  of  grave  advice,  and  once 
ilia  way,  just  to  see  howitwoiild  seem  to  be  good  friends, 


FLO'S    FAIRY    TALE.  121 

I  -would  lay  aside  my  frivolity  and  pettishness,  and  act  as 
if  I  were  willing  to  be  taught.  It  was  pleasant  to  receive 
his  instruction  as  well  as  his  attention,  and  there  was 
nothing  for  me  to  do  but  listen  with  an  air  of  gravity,  as 
if  I  were  at  last  entertaining  sensible  ideas  of  life.  Some- 
times a  sudden  feeling  of  compunction  would  come  over 
me,  and  I  would  try  being  good  for  long,  long  days  to- 
gether, playing  at  it,  as  it  were,  as  children  do  when  they 
make  believe  '  keep  house '  and  put  on  grown  people's 
airs  and  cares\  I  had  to  make  believe  harder  than  they 
did,  sometimes  ;  though  under  it  all  would  come  a  bright 
vision  of  living  such  a  life  as  my  young  teacher  would  lay 
out  for  me.  I  was  not  without  self-upbraidiugs,  I  was 
not  without  glimpses  of  better  things,  but  I  was  not  good 
enough  to  visit  among  the  poor,  and  take  an  interest  in 
all  the  pains  and  aches  that  are  attendant  upon  old  age, 
and  so  I  would  grow  per  verse  and  go  back  to  my  old  wilful 
yelf ,  and  drive  Mr.  Ayrnar  farther  away  than  ever.  Noth- 
ing however  would  keep  Flo  from  her  duties,  and  she  al- 
ways managed  to  have  as  much  time  as  I  had  for  pleas- 
ure, too.  She  would  go  around  among  the  fishermen  and 
their  wives,  shaking  hands  with  her  tender  little  air  of 
equality,  that  always  seemed  to  me  anything  but  that, 
her  grace  and  tenderness  putting  even  a  wider  gulf  than 
ever  between  her  and  her  pensioners.  She  was  already 
quite  clear  on  the  subject  of  diseases,  and  her  opinion 
was  sought  eagerly  by  the  poor  of  the  parish,  although 
she  was  sometimes  sorely  puzzled,  I  knew,  by  their  ques- 
tions. But  mother  proved  an  able  coadjutor  in  such 
matters.  It  was  clearly  never  my  forte — the  work  th^fc 
old  women,  red  flannel,  and  dirty  babies  brought ;  but 
there  was  plenty  of  it  here  ;  indeed,  I  fancy  there  is  plen- 
ty of  it  anywhere,  if  one  is  only  inclined  to  find  it  out. 


122  OLOVERLY. 

Mr.  Huntington  came  to  the  hou^e  a  great  deal  about 
this  time,  and  caused  me  sometimes  almost  as  much  uu- 
easiness  of  mind  as  Mr.  Aymar.  •  Meg  certainly  did  not 
care  for  him,  and  as  for  Flo,  as  long  as  she  had  Mr.  Ay- 
mar  I  thought  she  should  be  content ;  and  me,  he  evi- 
dently regarded  as  a  forward  child,  on  whom  he  bestow- 
ed a  vast  amount  of  chaff  and  snubbing,  to  pay  for  my 
waste  of  dignity.  But  it  really  seemed  a  thing  that  wa 
were  quite  helpless  to  control,  this  untrammelled  footing 
into  which  he  had  glided  among  our  family,  for  he  was 
attentive  to  no  one  in  particular,  unless  it  was  to  mother, 
and  mother  made  no  secret  of  her  affection  for  him.  The 
only  thing  that  Meg  and  I  disliked  was  an  unfortunate 
habit  of  saying  right  out  the  first  thought  that  came  into 
his  head.  Sometimes  it  was  funny  enough  to  make  us  all 
laugh  ;  oftener  it  was  a  boyish  brusquerie  that  it  was  hard 
to  brook,  though  on  the  whole  we  liked  him.  But  we 
often  asked  ourselves  why  he  staid  so  long.  He  did  not 
apparently  have  any  business  upon  hand  in  our  locality, 
and  yet  he  seemed  to  have  settled  down  as  an  inhabitant, 
as  completely  as  we  ourselves  had.  He  had  nothing  to 
call  him  away  either,  and  beyond  the  yachting  and  fish- 
ing, what  attraction  could  there  be  ?  It  was  a  great  puz- 
zle to  us  all,  for  he  succeeded  in  leading  the  most  indo- 
lent, useless  life,  that  I  had  ever  seen.  Bess  summoned 
up  courage  one  day  to  ask  him  what  his  business  was. 
'A  Miissigganger,'  he  said,  with  a  short  laugh,  and  the 
poor  child  was  poring  over  the  German  Dictionary  for 
weeks,  hunting  out  the  word,  and  then  was  sadly  disap- 
pointed in  finding  that  Mussigganginy  was  a  very  un- 
profitable business  taken  from  an  American  point  of  view. 

As  she  was  a  persevering  little  type  of  Yaukee,  how- 
ever, she  would  not  give  it  up  so,  and  continued  her  in- 


FLO'S  FATKY  TALE.  123 

vestigations  by  asking  liiin  why  he  staid  so  long.  He 
looked  confused,  stammered  '  Upon  my  word,  lady  bird, 
I  don't  know,'  and  then  a  great  laugh  followed  it. 

No  one  apparently  had  invited  him  to  remain,  and  he 
was  visiting  no  one  in  particular.  He  had  a  good  room 
in  one  of  the  small  hotels,  his  yacht  lay  out  in  the  cove,  4. 
his  fishing  tackle  and  gun  decorated  the  walls  of  his 
apartment,  and  he  had  settled  down  for  the  remainder  of 
his  days,  one  might  judge  from  his  style  of  conversation, 
and  the  way  in  which  he  fraternized  with  the  fishermen 
and  fanners,  to  say  nothing  of  St.  Thomas' parish.  Every 
one  accepted  him  as  a  good  companion  and  a  fine  fellow 
— a  trifle  indolent,  which  was  after  all  not  so  deplorable 
a  thing,  since,  as  Mrs.  Desmond  assured  her  friends,  he 
was  possessed  of  ample  means  and  alone  in  the  world. 
His  mother  had  been  one  of  her  dearest  friends,  and 
Neal,  she  declared  with  her  usual  effusion,  was  almost 
like  a  son  to  her  ;  yet,  after  the  first,  he  was  really  on 
a  more  intimate  footing  in  our  house  than  at  the  Des- 
monds, and  at  the  rectory  he  was  in  and  out  at  all  times 
of  the  day  with  the  assurance  of  a  privileged  character. 
He  certainly  was  not  staying  for  his  friend  Mr.  Aymar's 
sake — that  gentleman's  tastes  were  not  at  all  in  his  line  ; 
and  the  grave,  studious  Mr.  Homans  rarely  if  ever  had  a 
word  to  say  to  him.  And  old  Mr.  Leighton  could  not  be 
the  attraction,  although  there  was  scarcely  a  day  that  a 
fine  fish  was  not  taken  up  to  the  rectory,  and  Mr.  Hunt- 
in  gton  was  sure  to  drop  in  before  the  day  was  out  for  a 
little  advice  or  a  little  discussion,  for  in  his  youthful  days 
Mr.  Leighton  loved  the  sports  of  the  angler,  aud  took 
even  now  the  greatest  interest  in  any  one  who  carried  a 
rod  and  reel.  Mr.  Huntington  too  seemed  to  like  the 
rectory  people  quite  as  much  as  they  liked  him,  and  was 


124  CLOVERLY. 

never  more  happy  apparently  than  when  he  was  stretch- 
ed on  the  grass  puffing  his  cigar  and  recounting  his  last 
day's  sport,  while  the  old  lady  sat  placidly  under  the 
vine-covered  porch,  nodding  her  lace  capped  head  in 
smiling  approval,  though  she  didn't  hear  a  word  of  the 
conversatiou. 

But  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leighton,  though  charming  as  two 
old  people  could  possibly  be,  were  not  enough  in  them- 
selves to  detain  a  young  man  in  the  country  weeks  and 
weeks  beyond  the  time  which  he  had  allotted  to  himself 
when  he  first  came.  I  put  the  question  to  Meg  one  night 
when  we  were  in  bed,  whispering  under  the  clothes  so 
that  Flo  might  not  hear,  and  when  she  professed  utter 
ignorance,  I  said  '  I've  found  it  all  out.  I  have  just  watch- 
ed  and  seen  for  myself.  Its  Flo  he  is  staying  for,  Meg. 
He  adores  the  very  ground  under  her  feet,' — shooting 
out  the  words  as  if  they  were  torpedoes,  and  expecting  a 
proper  amoiint  of  active  surprise  on  her  part. 

'Bab,  you  are  a  perfect  Munchausen,'  she  laughed. 
'  We  couldn't  exist  without  your  fertile  brain.  It  was 
only  a  week  ago  that  Mr.  Aymar  was  the  Prince.' 

'  Well,  Mr.  Aymar  likes  her  too.  It's  perfectly  natural 
that  everybody  should  like  her.  We  must  expect  that, 
you  know;  and  I've  learned  to  enjoy  looking  for  it.  Mr. 
Aymar  is  very  proper,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but  you 
must  acknowledge  that  Mr.  Huntington  makes  it  more 
like  a  fairy  tale  ;  beside,  I,  for  one,  could  never  be  satis- 
fied with  Mr.  Ayniar.' 

'And  why  not,  pray  ? '  asked  Meg.  '  Think  how  good 
he  is,  and  how  he  works  among  the  poor,  and  how  they 
love  him  already.  And  beside  the  goodness,  Mr.  Leigh- 
ton  thinks  him  already  a  brilliant  man  in  his  profession. 
What  possible  objection  can  you  have  to  Mr.  Ayraar  ? ' 


FLO'S   FAIRY    TALE.  125 

*  He  is  too  good,  for  one  thing.  He  expects  too  much 
from  ordinary  mortals.  I  like  every  day  people — people 
•who  don't  set  up  impossible  things  to  do.  I  never  had  a 
fancy  for  reformers.  It's  all  very  nice  to  hear  about, 
after  the  things  are  done, — work  and  duty  and  self-sacri- 
fice are  such  beautiful  words  to  put  in  a  sermon  or  in  a 
book,  but  it  is  awful  to  live  in  an  age  when  it  is  required 
of  one.' 

'  I  don't  see  that  it  makes  any  difference  what  age  we 
live  in,'  said  Meg  oracularly,  from  under  her  side  of  the 
bed-clothes  ;  '  we  can  find  our  duties  just  the  same  if  we 
have  a  mind  to  see  them.  Those  who  wilfully  shut  their 
eyes  and  then  blindfold  themselves,  cannot  expect  to 
see.' 

'  Don't  go  off  into  metaphors,'  I  said.  '  Say  you  mean 
me,  and  have  done  with  it.  I  don't  mind  your  little  lec- 
tures, but  I  do  detest  Mr.  Aymar's.  Let  us  go  back  to 
the  old  subject.  What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Huntington's 
lingering  here  so  long  ?  ' 

'  He  is  staying  for  the  fishing.' 

'  That's  just  what  I'i  o  been  telling  you  all  along.' 

'  Nonsense  !  A  pretty  romance  you  are  making  ! '  and 
Meg  laughed  so  loudly  and  so  long  that  Flo,  who  was 
nearly  lost  in  quiet  dreams,  called  out  from  the  adjoining 
room  to  know  if  anything  remarkable  had  happened. 

And  Meg  laughed  again  as  she  answered  back  '  O  only 
one  of  Bab's  inspirations  ;  but  it  will  keep  until  to-mor- 
row, T  rather  think,  and  you  shall  hear  all  about  it  then.' 

'  You  must  never  tell  her, — you  must  never  tell  her, 
Meg,'  I  whispered,  as  I  held  her  close  in  my  arms.  '  I'll 
never  forgive  you  if  you  do,  for  I've  found  out  something 
else,  something  that  I  wouldn't  tell  for  the  world — you 
never  could  keep  a  secret,  you  know. 

i 


126  CLOVEKLY. 

Meg  was  at  once  interested.  '  Tell  me,  Bab,  and  I 
won't  lisp  a  word  to  Flo,  or  to  any  one.' 

'  Won't  you  really  ?  ' 

'  No,  I  will  not ;  and  you  know  when  I  make  a  promise  I 
generally  keep  it.' 

'  Very  well  then.  Flo  loves  him  as  much  as  he  loves 
her.' 

'  Why,  Barbara  Fox  !  It  was  only  the  other  day  that 
we  were  all  in  pinafores,  playing  "Puss  in  the  corner," 
and  now  your  head  is  full  of  falling  in  love, — and  you,  the 
youngest  of  the  three.  You  are  crazy,  Bab  ! ' 

And  Meg,  greatly  scandalized,  sat  up  in  bed,  ran  her 
fingers  through  her  .hair,  and  surveyed  me  with  mild 
incredulity.  '  It's  all  nonsense  !  It's  no  such  thing  ! ' 
she  said  when  she  lay  down  again. 

'  Very  well ;  you'll  see  you  are  mistaken  one  of  these 
days,' I  uttered  sagely.  'Flo  isn't  herself  at  all.  You 
see  for  yourself  how  much  she  wanders  off  alone,  and  how 
quiet  and  dreamy  she  is.  Sometimes  when  we  are  talk- 
ing she  wakes  up  long  enough  to  auswer  a  question,  but 
you  know  she  is  not  herself.' 

'  Bab,'  said  Meg  softly,  '  I'm  afraid  she  isn't  well.  How 
pale  and  thin  she  grows.  She  looks  like  a  spirit  to  me 
sometimes.  It  worries  me,  and  I  see  mother  looking 
anxious, — she  watches  iier,  although  she  says  nothing. 
I  think  the  poor  child  is  not  well.' 

'And  I  think  she's  in  love,'  said  I ;  '  that  is  the  way 
they  always  act.' 

'Yes,  in  the  paper  covered  novels  that  you  read, 'laugh- 
ed Meg ;  '  now-a-days  people  don't  conduct  themselves 
as  if  they  were  acting  in  a  second  rate  tragedy.  Do  get 
off  your  stilts,  Bab,  and  go  to  sleep  like  a  sensible  girl. 


FLO'S    FAIRY    TALE.  127 

Mother  -would  think  her  children  were  crazy  if  she  heard 
half  of  their  silly  talk.' 

'  Mother  has  probably  said  the  very  same  things  that  we 
are  saying  when  she  was  our  age,'  I  commented  rather 
tartly,  and  turning  my  face  to  the  wall  I  pretended  to 
go  to  sleep. 

I  was  vexed  with  Meg,  and  annoyed  that  she  did  not 
fall  into  my  way  of  thinking  at  once.  I  always  felt  that 
I  had  her  sympathy  and  support  in  all  my  hallucinations, 
— yes,  it  was  very  strange  that  for  once  in  her  life  Meg 
•was  obtuse. 

I  lay  awake  some  time,  turning  the  thought  over  and 
over  in  my  mind,  and  the  more  I  dwelt  upon  it  the  more 
fixed  the  idea  became.  I  wondered  what  we  had  all  been 
dreaming  over  that  we  could  not  have  seen  for  ourselves 
long  ago.  Now  I  woke  up  and  understood  it  all,  little 
acts  and  words  unnoticed  at  the  time  crowding  into  my 
mind,  and  proving  my  conclusions  true.  Yes,  Neal 
Huntington  loved  Flo,  and  all  along  I  had  stupidly 
thought  it  was  Mr.  Ay  mar. 

Now  our  fairy  tale  had  begun  !  Now  indeed  the  Prince, 
for  whom  we  had  waited  all  our  lives,  had  come  1 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  LEGEND  OP1  ST.  CKEISTOPHEB. 

We  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  upon  the  cliffs  that  Sum- 
mer. We  went  in  parties,  and  we  went  by  ourselves  ;  we 
took  our  work  and  our  books  and  passed  whole  long 
mornings  there  ;  we  sat  on  bhe  gray  rocks  and  looke,!  out 
over  those  wonderful  spaces  of  sea  aiid  air,  and  dreamed 
our  own  dreams.  There  seemed  no  better  place  to  lose 
one's  self,  and  we  were  never  weary  of  trying  the  experi- 
ment. Sometimes  in  the  clear  and  sunny  early  morning 
we  saw  the  gray  fishing  boats  go  out,  riding  the  long 
swell  of  the  breakers  as  carelessly  and  gracefully  as  swal- 
lows on  the  wing,  or  in  the  distance  the  white  sail  of  a 
yacht  would  skim  lightly  across  our  view,  and  we  would 
watch  until,  like  a  phantom,  it  had  disappeared.  And  all 
the  time  the  soft  long  ripple  of  the  waves,  lapping  upon 
the  sands  below,  stole  up  to  us  with  a  ceaseless  murmur, 
that  was  almost  like  a  moan,  it  was  so  weary.  Soft 
sounds,  slow  gliding  motions,  and  drowsy  whisperings, 
filled  the  whole  vast  boundlessness  of  space.  And  we 
were  content  to  go  on  with  our  drt  ams  as  we  listened. 

One  day  we  had  an  addition  to  our  party — a  young 
lady  that  was  staying  with  the  Desmonds  came  over  with 
Bella,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Homan=!,  and  Mr.  Winnie,  to  play 
croquet  with  us  under  the  pleasant  shade  of  our  old 
trees.  They  found  Mr.  Aymar  and  Mr.  Htmtiugton  on 
the  ground  before  them,  and  much  of  the  afternoon  was 
consumed  in  croquet,  when  somo  one  proposed  an  excur- 
sion to  the  cliffs  and  a  picnicing  tea  after  wo  got  there. 
Mr.  Aymar  at  once  declined,  pleading  engagements  along 


THE   LEGEXD    OF    ST.    CHRISTOPHER.  129 

the  shore,  but  Mr.  H;mtingtoa  insisted  upon  his  giving 
up  for  ouce  and  going. 

'  You  have  never  se3n  our  grand  Cathedral  walk,  and 
you  have  never  joined  one  of  our  excursions,  yet.  I'm 
determined  you  shall  -^o,  so  submit  with  as  good  graea  a-i 
possible,'  he  said,  linking  his  arm  withia  that  of  th<3 
young  clergyman. 

'But  Mrs.  Boss  will  expect  me,'  lie  urged. 
'A  little  waiting  will  do  her  good,  then.     Anybody  that 
has  paralysis  needs  stirring  up  occasionally.     It  will  be 
like  an  electric  shock  to  find  that  you  cann  A  keep  an  en- 
gagement. ' 

Still  Mr.  Aymar  hesitated,  but  Flo  settled  it  all  with  a 
few  quiet  words. 

'  I  was  there  to-day,  and  she  seemed  more  comfortable 
— beside,  you  will  have  time  to  visit  her  after  our  little 
picnic  is  over.' 

He  bowed  his  thanks,  said  something  that  I  could  not 
hear,  aiid  professed  his  willingness  to  join  us.  Meg  flew 
into  the  house  and  gathered  some  cake  and  fruit  in 
baskets,  and  we  all  sallied  forth,  Mr.  Huntington  run- 
ning back  to  slip  a  volume  of  Tennyson  in  his  pocket. 
'We'll  make  Homans  read,'  he  said,  'when  we  get  up 
there.  His  voice  is  just  full  and  sonorous  enough  for 
Tennvson.' 

I  had  only  exchanged  three  words  with  Mr.  Aymar 
that  whole  afternoon,  and  those  three  words  were  '  Very 
well,  thanks,'  to  his  formal  bow  and  '  How  do  you  do.'  I 
should  as  soon  have  thought  of  the  sun  obligingly  step- 
ping down  out  of  heaven  to  make  obeisance  before  me, 
as  for  Mr.  Aymar,  entrenched  in  his  priestly  dignity,  to 
notice  me  by  a  word  or  a  look.  I  cared  very  little  about 
the  sun,  I  said  to  myself — he  might  beam  on  me  or  not, 


130  CLOYEKLY. 

just  as  he  pleased.  And  then  I  smiled  at  my  far-fetch- 
ed comparison,  for  no  iceberg  could  be  colJer  than  he, 
•when  ha  chose.  He  was  noL  cold  naturally,  that  I  knew. 
He  had  warmth  of  feeling  enough  when  he  was  spanking 
to  his  congregation  from  the  pulpit  or  reading  desk,  and 
I  had  seen  his  face  light  up  with  the  most  tender  and 
kindly  sympathy  when  he  stopped  to  shake  hands  with 
the  poor  and  aged  of  the  parish.  But  at  sach  times  he 
was  practising  the  requirements  of  his  profession — act- 
ing out  the  word  duty  iu  its  loftiest  sense — though  I 
could  not  deny  that  I  had  seen  something  of  the  same 
expression,  this  very  afternoon  of  which  I  write,  when 
he  was  talking  to  Flo  under  the  trees.  But  then  we 
know  that  even  Iceland  has  its  Hecla 

As  forme,  I  was  content  to  chat  with  my  new  acquaint- 
ance as  we  walked  behind  the  others,  listening  and  some- 
times commenting  upon  th^ir  conversation.  It  was  a 
glorious  day,  full  of  sunshine  and  singing  of  birds,  with 
a  soft  haze  resting  over  the  water,  and  scarcely  a  cloud 
anywhere  to  be  seen.  We  were  all  in  high  spirits,  and 
Mr.  Aymar  seemed  to  have  entirely  forgotten  that  he  had 
tried  to  get  away  from  us.  Nat  und  Miss  Hornans  led 
the  way  over  the  ineadosv.s,  where  they  branched  off 
across  the  hot  beach  sand,  our  usurd  path,  but  then  very 
warm  with'  the  sun  shining  full  upon  it. 

'  We  are  good  Romanists,'  said  Mr.  Huntington,  looking 
back  and  laughing.  '  We  wont  take  our  Paradise  with- 
out the  Purgatory  beforehand.' 

*  The  heat  is  intolerable,'  I  said,  making  a  halt  while 
Mr.  Winnie  fanned  me  with  my  broud  hat. 

'We  are  going  this  way  to  the  Cathedral  walk,' Nat 
called  out.  '  It  will  be  cool  and  delightful  after  we  reach 
it,  and  we  can  sit  there  and  read  until  the  sun  is  low.' 


THE    LEGEND    OF    ST.    CIIUISTOPHER.  13) 

'Delightful  !'  said  Mr.  Ay  mar  on  behalf  of  the  whole, 
looking  around  as  if  it  were  everybody's  duty  and  pleas- 
ure to  please  him. 

I  like  to  snub  such  people.  It  takes  them  by  surprise 
of  course,  but  then  surprises  are  good  for  us — som  -times. 
If  you  want  to  spoil  a  child,  give  it  its  own  way,  and  th3 
same  rule  holds  good  with  men  and  women,  /like  to 
have  my  own  way,  but  then,  as  Meg  says,  that  has  no- 
thing to  do  with  the  rule  ;  under  all  circumstances  that 
remains  the  same. 

'I  think  it  is  anything  but  delightful,'  I  said,  'crawl- 
ing through  the  hot  sand.  It  is  all  very  well  for  gentle- 
men who  wear  heavy  English  shoes,  to  talk  of  skipping 
through  it,  but  it  is  very  uncomfortable  for  us.  Let  us 
climb  up  the  rocks  now  and  walk  on  the  top  of  the  cliff ; 
there  is  grass  short  and  velvety  enough  to  make  a  carpet 
for  a  queen.' 

Everybody  obligingly  turned  around  at  once,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  we  were  all  scrambling  among  the  slippery 
rocks,  the  gentlemen  being  in  constant  requisition  to  aid 
our  unwary  steps.  In  going  up,  we  were  grouped  differ- 
ently. Mr.  Aymar  hid  come  around  to  Flo's  side,  and 
Mr.  Huntington,  after  his  momentary  tribute  of  admira- 
tion, flitted  back  to  us,  and  was  agreeable  and  amusing 
as  one  could  well  be.  Nat  and  Miss  Homans  still  led  the 
way,  and  we  followed  along  the  rocky  path,  the  trees 
meeting  overhead  in  gothic  vistas  of  cool  green  shade. 
We  scrambled  through  brakes  and  patches  of  stunted 
grass,  over  loose  stones  and  heavy  boulders,  arriving  at 
last  at  the  top  of  the  rough  gray  rock  that  thrust  ita 
front  abruptly  up  from  the  sands  below.  How  beautiful 
it  was,  with  its  groiniugs  of  laced  boughs  and  frettings 
of  dancing  sunshine.  We  wandered  under  the  leafy 


132  CLOVEULT. 

arches,  talking  as  we  are  apt  to  talk,  in  the  quiet,  sub- 
dued tones  that  seemingly  befit  such  a  place.  And  I 
noticed  that  Mr.  Aymar  had  given  his  arm  to  Flo.  I 
could  not  tell  what  they  were  talking  about,  for  Mr. 
Winnie  was' telling  us  of  the  last  regatta  ;  but  I  s:aw  his 
head  bent  to  meet  hers,  I  saw  .the  thoughtful  expression 
of  her  face,  and  I  knew  that  she  was  listening  as  she  al- 
ways listened  when  he  talked — as  if  sbe  had  no  thought 
for  anything  else  in  the  world.  I  said  to  myself  I  was 
sorry  Flo  should  flirt,  and  yet  all  the  time  I  knew  that  it 
was  not  flirting.  It  was  too  earnest  a  friendship  for  that, 
and  it  was  much  too  serious  to  "be  love.  What  was  it, 
then  ?  And  was  she,  after  all,  thinking  or  caring  any- 
thing about  the  fairy  tale  we  had  planned  for  her  ? 

'  Mr.  Aymar  was  led  a  willing  victim  in  spite  of  his 
protestations,'  remarked  Mr.  Huntington  significantly. 
'As  soon  as  you-r  sister  made  her  appeal  I  noticed  that  he 
was  ready  to  neglect  his  duties  for  once. ' 

'  Mr.  Aymar  never  neglects  a  duty,'  I  interposed  haugh- 
tily. 

'  I  beg  pardon, — postponed  it,  I  will  say.  Is  that  any 
better  ? ' 

'Vastly  better,'  I  said,  and  then  I  felt  the  blood  dyeing 
my  face  and  neck  in  a  painful  flood — to  think  that  I  had 
been  willing  to  take  up  arms  for  a  man  who  had  showed 
positive  dislike  to  me  !  I  looked  up  and  saw  that  my 
companion's  eyes  were  full  of  laughter. 

'  I  did  not  think  I  had  said  anything  worthy  of  a 
laugh,'  I  remarked  wrathfully,  'though  it  is  very  com- 
forting to  know  I  can  amuse  you  in  any  way.  Pray  do 
not  consider  my  feelings  in  the  least, — only  tell  me  that  I 
may  join  you.' 

'  I  beg  pardon  again.     Don't  you  see   how  many  times 


THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER.        133 

you  put  me  in  the  position  of  an  abject  suppliant  ? — that 
at  least  ought  to  satisfy  you, — do  let  us  be  sensible  for 
once.  I  suppose  you  do  not  carj  to  wander  off  like  tlie 
rest  and  explore.  Miss  Wagner,  Mr.  Aymar  and  Mr. 
Winnie  have  never  seen  all  the  beauties  of  this  spot, 
but  v.e  know  it  so  well.' 

'  Like  our  A  B  0, '  I  said.  '  I  had  much  rather  sit  down 
and  wait. ' 

'Yes,  and  talk.  I  won't  laugh  at  you  again,  and  I 
promise  you,  you  shall  not  laugh  at  me.'  And  then  he 
spread  my  shawl  upon  a  rock  and  we  two  sat  down  under 
the  laurel  trees  together,  while  the  others  wandered  away, 
their  voices  coming  back  to  us  now  and  again  in  confused 
murmuriugs  mixed  with  laughter. 

We  two  sat  and  talked,  for  once  in  our  lives  laying 
aside  our  weapons  of  warfare.  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  we  were  melancholy  enough,  under  these  ex- 
traordinary circumstances,  to  begin  with  the  Pre- Adamite 
formations  and  go  on  to  the  true  theory  of  growth  and 
evolution  of  Mind  and  Matter.  We  were  solemn  and 
astute  enough  to  satisfy  ihe  most  critical,  and  then  we 
suddenly  wandered  off  like  children,  picking  flowers  and 
grasses,  and  coming  back  to  our  first  resting  place  to 
weave  wreaths  for  the  whole  party. 

'  This  is  where  we  always  bring  our  work,'  I  said,  tak- 
ing Flo's  favorite  seat  and  sorting  out  my  flowers  as  I 
spoke. 

' Indeed  '  "How  doth  the  little  busy  bee  "  ' — 

'  But  the  hours  are  shining,'  I  said. 

'  I  have  found  them  so,'  he  replied,  '  but  wouldn't  you 
prefer  hearing  Mr.  Homans  read,  now  ? '  as  the  full, 
sonorous  voice  came  floating  up  to  us  from  the  hollow  a 
little  below. 


134  CLOVEULY. 

'  That  depends  upon  what  he  is  reading.  If  it  be  Hux- 
ley on  Protoplasm,  or  Darwin  on  the  Origin  of  Species, 
I  think  I  shall  prefer  staying  here.  We  Lave  had  heavy 
talk  enough  to  last  for  a  season.' 

'  But  it  is  Tennyson,  you  know.  I  really  think  we  are 
missing  something.' 

'  Go,  then,  if  you  like  ;  I  prefer  staying  here.' 

'  What,  alone  ?' 

'Yes,  alone.' 

'  I  can't  allow  it,'  and  he  reseated  himself. 

'  But  what  if  I  prefer  it. ' 

'  What !  You  don't  like  my  society  any  longer  ?  I 
cannot  credit  your  poor  taste. ' 

'I  can  only  give  you  my  word  for  it.' 

'And  what  if  I  do  not  take  it  ?' 

'I  am  not  in  the  witness-box,  aud  I  shall  do  nothing 
further. ' 

He  made  me  the  most  profound  bow.  '  I  shall  go  and 
seek  Miss  Flo,'  he  said  as  he  twirled  his  hat  in  his  band. 
'Do  you  think  I  shall  be  made  as  welcome  as  you  have 
made  me  here  for  the  last  hour  or  two  ?' 

'  I  cannot  tell.  I  fancy  Mr.  Aymar  is  with  her,'  I  said, 
bringing  in  his  name  a*  a  venture. 

He  stooped  to  pick  up  some  grasses,  but  his  face  was 
crimson  for  an  instant.  '  My  spirit  of  good  fellowship  is 
always  getting  me  in  trouble,'  he  said.  '  I  wish  the  par- 
son had  staid  at  home.' 

'  Why  ?'  I  asked,  looking  him  full  in  the  eyes. 

'  Because  I  would  like,  for  once  in  my  life,  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  Miss  Flo  alone,'  he  said  with  sud- 
den effusion.  '  Suppose  I  tell  Aymar  you  want  to  con- 
sult him  up  here  on  important  parish  matters,  01  that 
you  are  puzzled  in  the  Catechism  that  you  have  been 


THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER.        135 

studying  so  diligently  of  late,  or  maybe  overcome  with 
remorse  when  you  ponder  on  your  neglect  of  old  Mother 
Boss.  By  Jove  !  I'll  try  it.' 

'Do  it  if  you  dare, 'I  said.  '  You  know  I  don't  want 
Mr.  Aymar  here.' 

'I  beg  pardon,  then — I  will  not  intrude,'  said  that  ubi- 
quitous gentleman,  and  turning  around,  I  discovered 
him,  with  a  flush  on  his  face,  standing  irresolutely  in  the 
path. 

'You  are  my  evil  genius,'  I  cried  with  a  frown  as  Mr. 
Huntington  escaped  and  left  me  standing  alone  before 
Mr.  Aymar ;  and  then,  with  a  laugh  I  could  not  resist,  I 
said  '  I  really  beg  your  pardon.  Of  course  I  shouldn't 
have  said  such  a  thing  if  I  had  not  been  provoked  beyond 
endurance  by  that  mischievous  boy.  He  has  got  me  in- 
to trouble  ever  since  he  came.  I  will  be  glad  enough 
when  he  goes  away. ' 

Again  Mr.  Aymar  bowed. 

'  Wont  you  sit  down  a  minute,  please  ?  I  want  to  tell 
you  why  I  spoke  so.' 

'Pray  do  not  apologize.' 

'But  I  want  to.  Can't  I  do  as  I  please  ?'  I  knew  I 
spoke  like  a  child.  I  wished  so  much  that  I  could  say 
and  do  things  as  they  write  them  in  books — graceful  lit- 
tle subterfuges  and  complimentary  speeches  that  are  al- 
ways ready  in  every  young  woman's  mouth  ;  but  when 
he  had  gravely  seated  himself  and  I  tried  to  speak,  it 
suddenly  flashed  across  my  mind  what  was  there  to  say  I 
I  sarely  could  not  tell  him  that  Mr.  Huutington  wanted 
to  speak  to  Flo  alone,  and  that  he  was  in  the  way  !  '  I — I 
didn't  mean  that  I  didn't  want  to  see  you,'  I  said,  stam- 
mering like  a  school-girl,  and  blushing  painfully. 

'  Thank  you.     I  am  indebted  to  you  for  your  unusual 


136  CLOVERLY. 

courtesy.     Pray  what  has  occurred  to  make  you  change 
your  miud  so  suddenly  ?' 

'I — I  didn't  want  to  see  you  at  all, 'I  retorted  quick- 

lj- 

'  Now  I  go  back  to  my  first  supposition — I  clearly  arn 
not  wanted. ' 

How  much  cooler  he  was  than  I.  '  Mr.  Huntington 
was  saying  very  silly  things,'  I  said  bluntly.  'I  cannot 
explain — and  I  spoke  hastily  and  foolishly.  I  beg  you 
will  think  nothing  of  it.' 

'Then  let  it  drop,  pray,' he  said,  really  pitying  my 
embarrassment  and  silliness.  '  We  will  talk  of  some- 
thing else,  and  I  shall  consider  all  your  unfavorable 
opinions  of  me  as  put  away  and  ended.' 

'But  I  haven't  any  unfavorable  opinion  of  you.' 

*  Have  you  not  ?  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  I  would  like 
every  member  of  my  congregation  to,  at  the  least,  give 
me  a  cordial  greeting  when  I  meet  them.' 

'And  should  you  like  me  to  do  so  ?  ' 

'I  really  should.' 

'Agreed,'  I  said.     'I  supposed  you  did  not  care.' 

'  Miss  Barbara,  I  do  care  very  much,'  and  his  voice  was 
slightly  tremulous.  '  I  never  cared  more  for  anything  in 
my  life.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  you  purposely 
avoided  or  deliberately  cut  me.  This  is  my  first  parish, 
you  know,  and  I  cannot  express  how  deeply  I  feel  every 
little  act  of  kindness  ' — he  hesitated  a  moment  and  then 
added  '  or  unkindness.' 

A  little  thrill  of  pleasure  fluttered  in  my  heart  at  this 
observation.  It  was  not  that  I  liked  Mr.  Aymar,  I 
thought,  but  I  was  pleased  to  discover  that  I  was  no  long- 
er a  nonentity,  or  a  being  in  whom  he  had  not  the  slight- 
est interest, — it  wa3  akinl  of  acknowlcdgm  nt  that  I 


THE   LEGEND    OF    ST.    CHKISTOPHEK.  137 

was  one  of  his  flock,  in  spite  of  any  effort  that  I  had  here- 
tofore made  to  throw  off  the  yoke. 

'  I  have  always  had  an  unfortunate  proclivity  for  say- 
ing and  doing  the  things  I  ought  not  to  do,'  I  acknowl- 
edged with  a  little  more  color  than  usual.  '  I  can't  un- 
make myself,  or  seem  to  be  what  I  am  not.  I  suppose  I 
have  shocked  you  with  my  brusquerie  many  times.' 

'  Not  with  that,'  he  interrupted. 

'  With  what,  then  ?  '  I  asked. 

'  With  your  carelessness — your  lightness — your  disre- 
gard of  serious  things.' 

'  I  suppose  so.  It  was  always  my  melancholy  privilege. 
However  I  believe  it  is  well  that  one  his  the  merit  of  re- 
maining true  to  one's  self.' 

'  Excuse  me,'  he  said  gravely,  '  I  don't  think  you  ara 
true  to  yourself.  I  should  like  to  see  you  giving  full 
scope  to  all  the  faculties  which  have  been  bestowed  upon 
you.  Yours  is  a  candid  and  generous  nature,  Miss  Bar- 
bara, if  you  don't  cramp  yourself  and  try  too  narrow  a 
groove  of  action.' 

'Action  ! '  I  said  listlessly,  'you  have  no  idea  how  I 
dislike  the  word.  I  love  ease.  I  would  like  to  explore 
for  myself  and  find  "  the  land  where  it  is  always  afternoon 
— a  land  where  all  things  always  seem  the  same."  ' 

He  shook  his  head.  'I  do  not  believe  in  your  dream- 
ful ease.  Lotus  Eating  is  only  a  very  pretty  namenow-a- 
days  for  moral  lethargy.  I  believe  we  were  put  into  tho 
world  to  wage  a  warfare  and  to  conquer  in  the  fight.' 

I  looked  up  at  him  from  under  my  broad  brimmed  hat 
and  quoted — 

"  Time  driveth  onward  fast, 
And  in  a  Lttle  while  our  lips  are  dumb  ; 
Let  u<  alone.    What  is  it  that  will  last  ?  " 

'Eternity,'  he  said  softly  and  gravely. 


138  CLOVERLY. 

It  was  an  old,  old  word,  that  I  sometimes  said  over  to 
myself  wonderingly  and  dreamily,  and  sometimes  shud- 
deritigly — now  it  came  before  me  with  a  fresh,  live  mean- 
ing in  it,  as  he  spoke  it  out  there  in  the  still  woods,  the 
dusky,  interlaced  boughs  above,  the  whole  wide  arc  of 
blue,  like  eternity  itself,  spread  before  us,  still  and  un- 
ruffled as  that  sea  of  glass  that  sweeps  before  the  great 
white  throne.  Straightway  into  my  heart  leaped  the  one 
unutterable  longing  of  my  life — rarely  felt  and  lightly 
fostered,  yet  coming  back  to  me  again  like  a  ray  of  light 
in  a  stormy  sky — the  desire  to  be  good  and  pure,  and 
true  of  heart,  the  words  coming  into  my  mind  almost 
as  he  spoke,  '  they  shall  walk  in  white  for  they  aro 
worthy.' 

I  turned  away  my  eyes  with  a  choking  sensation  in  my 
throat.  '  I  do  wish  I  could  take  hold  of  some  certainty 
of  faith.  It  seems  so  easy  for  some  people  to  live.  They 
take  this  life  as  a  mere  preparation  for  something  higher, 
— to  one, eternity  is  an  abysm  ;  to  another,  it  means  heaven 
and  home  ;  but  for  me  the  pilgrimage  and  the  outlook  is 
more  uncertain, — it  is  a  problem,  not  of  rnina  alone,  but 
of  the  whole  world. ' 

'We  make  it  a  problem,'  he  said,  'when  the  figure  is 
clear  ;  but  we  must  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  read  the 
promise  plain.  We  must  not  fold  our  hands  in  dreamful 
ease,  or  try  to  climb  up  some  other  way.  We  are  apt  to 
think  that  religion  is  an  article  that  we  can  lay  hold  of 
abstractly  ;  we  forget  that  it  is  a  thing  of  growth,  not  of 
instant  bestowal,' 

*  But  when  I  try  I  feel  like  a  child  fretting  ever  a 
tangled  skein — the  more  I  puzzle  over  it  the  harder  the 
knots  become.' 

1  Not  if  you  begin  the  work  patiently  and  slowly,  in 


THE  LEGEND  OP  ST.  CHRISTOPHER.        139 

the  right  way.  I  have  always  fonnd  a  loose  end  some- 
where to  lay  hold  of,  and  once  you  have  that  in  yonr 
hand,  yon  can  work  out  the  whole  -thing  clearly.  It  does 
not  do  to  trifle  with  one's  immortal  soul  as  one  would 
dally  over  a  tangled  skeio — if  you  like  the  metaphor, 
Miss  Barbara.' 

'  Mine  are  all  loose  ends,  I  believe,  beside  being  hope- 
lessly tangled.  If  I  ever  think  I  have  a  clae,  I  find  it  is 
only  one  of  the  short  ends.  Ah  !  here  comes  my  bete  noir 
again,'  as  Mr.  Huntington  appeared  with  Miss  Wagner 
upon  his  arm  instead  of  Flo,  while  the  rest  of  the  party 
followed  slowly.  He  made  me  a  smiling  grimace,  ex- 
pressive of  the  most  heart-rending  disappointment  as  he 
led  the  young  lady  to  a  seat  by  my  side.  Our  sober  talk 
was  ended — so  suddenly  it  seemed — j  ust  like  one  of  my 
tangled  threads — broken  almost  before  I  had  begun  to 
unravel  it.  Th.it  is  the  way  things  are  mixed  in  this  life 
— picnics  and  sermons,  poetry  and  prose,  Mr.  Aymars  and 
Mr.  HuutingtoQS,  a  world  made  up  of  antagonisms. 

'Why  did  you  not  bring  Miss  Barbara  down  to  hear 
Mr.  Homans  read?'  said  Mr.  Winnie.  'You  said  you 
were  going  to  fetch  her.' 

'  I  have  been  preaching  a  very  dull  sermon  to  Miss 
Barbara,  instead,'  he  replied,  '  and  I  believe  I  became  so 
interested  in  it  that  I  forgot  my  errand. ' 

'  You  should  have  called  us  up  to  hear,'  said  Netta  Ho- 
mans, who  always  made  it  a  point  to  listen  to  every  word 
that  dropped  from  the  young  clergyman's  lips,  as  if  it 
were  altogether  too  precious  to  be  lost. 

'  I  fear  it  was  not  worth  the  hearing,  or  remembering,' 
he  hesitated  with  a  momentary  shyness  that  was  habitu- 
al to  him. 

'  We  have  come  up  for  our  tea,'  said  practical  Meg  ; 


140  CLOVEIILY. 

'after  that  \re  will  hear  sermon  or  poetry,  just  as  you 
choose. ' 

She  bustled  away  with  housewifely  zeal  to  open  h^r 
basket,  while  Nat  distributed  little  plates  of  bark  that  he 
and  Mr.  Winnie  had  been  industriously  collecting.  By 
and  by,  when  our  interest  in  the  light  cakes  and  dainty 
fruit  bad  somewhat  abated,  Mr.  Aymar  was  called  upon 
for  his  sermon,  if  he  would  give  it. 

The  beautiful  Summer  afternoon  was  nearly  gone. 
While  we  had  lingered  the  woods  around  us  had  grown 
black  with  cool  shadows,  and  the  hush  of  the  nearing 
twilight  was  upon  us. 

'  We  are  tired  of  picnicing,'  said  Miss  Homans,  'let  us 
sit  here  and  tell  stories,  just  as  we  used  when  we  were 
children,  Ned,  to  pass  the  time  away  before  going  home.' 

'Aye,'  said  her  brother,  'but  who  will  be  our  Sche- 
zerade  ? ' 

'Mr.  Aymar,'  said  I.  '  He  can  go  on  with  the  sermon 
that  our  summons  to  tea,  interrupted.' 

Mr.  Aymar  stood  leaning  against  a  pine  tree,  his  slight 
figure  clearly  denned  against  the  sky,  his  arms  folded, 
the  sunset  shining  on  his  face — an  earnest  and  rather 
absorbed  face  it  was,  as  if  he  were  lost  in  some  serious 
thought.  He  started  slightly  as  I  spoke — bowed  and 
said  '  The  thread  was  broken  and  the  clue  gone.' 

'  But  you  can  tell  us  a  story,'  I  said;  '  you  ought  to  tell 
one  well.  Bess  says  that  you  do.' 

'  I  take  off  my  hat  to  Bess.  Pray  where  has  she  ever 
had  an  opportunity  of  judging  ? ' 

'In  Sunday-school,  of  course.' 

'  Those  were  Bible  stories.' 

'Then  tell  us  one.' 

'No,'  said  Miss  Desmond,  'let  him  tell  us  a  legend. 


THE   LEGEND    OF    ST.    CHBISTOPHER.  141 

You  know,  Mr.  Aymar,  you  promised  to  tell  me  the  story 
of  St.  Christopher.' 

'  But  every  owe  knows  it  by  heart,  and  there  are  so 
many  versions  of  it. ' 

'  Give  us  yours,'  still  persisted  Miss  Desmond. 

'  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  a  clear  case  of  plagiarism. ' 

'  We  are  all  plagiarists, '  said  Mr.  Homans.  '  Don't  you 
remember  that  Cromwell's  celebrated  saying,  "Trust 
Providence,  but  keep  your  powder  dry,"  appears  in 
JEschylus  in  another  form  when  Thebes  is  defended, 
"  The  people  must  pray  indeed,  but  look  well  to  the  for- 
tifications "  The  Scripture  injunction  has  always  been 
"  Watch  and  pray."  This  reproduction  of  old  ideas  once 
caused  a  French  wit  to  exclaim  against  the  ancients, 
"  Confound  the  fellows, — they  stole  all  our  thoughts  be- 
fore we  were  born  !  " 

'  Very  true,'  said  Mr.  Aymer.  'Almost  everything 
seems  to  have  been  said  once  ;  we  only  elaborate  the  old 
ideas,  after  all.  I  wonder  sometimes  that  anybody  can 
think  for  a  moment  he  is  telling  anything  new.' 

'  But  we  have  none  of  us  heard  St.  Christopher's  story,' 
said  Netta  Homans.  '  We  shall  not  know  if  you  are  tell- 
ing it  in  the  o'.d  style  or  the  n^w.' 

'  O  no,  indeed,'  we  all  said  in  chorus  ;  so  Mr.  Aymar 
sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  pine  tree,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
smiled  as  he  asked  'Shall  I  tell  it  after  the  proscribed 
fashion  of  legends,  "  once  upon  a  time  ?  " — or  no — I  will 
try  somet]iing  a  little  newer,'  and  then  began. 

In  the  pleasant  land  of  Canaan  dwelt  the  giant  Offero  ; 
full  of  prowess  was  this  warrior,  mighty  with  the  sword 
and  bo\v  ;  all  his  life  had  he  been  seeking  service  with  a 
nughty  K'ng — to  the  greatest  earthly  monarch,  he  would 


142  CLOVE  KLY. 

ready  service  bring.  Now  he  knew  not  Christ  or  Satan, 
for  a  heathen  man  was  he  ;  but  he  saw  the  King,  his  mas- 
ter, sometimes  pause  and  bend  his  knee  ;  and  at  tbe  name 
of  Satan  he  would  cross  himself  in  fear,  arid  he  told  the 
giant  bearer  that  he  felt  him  very  near. 

'  Mr.  Aymar,'  exclaimed  Miss  Desmond,  '  you  are  tell- 
ing it  in  rhyme  ! ' 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  replied,  '  I  thought  it  was  the 
dullest,  coldest  prose.  Shall  I  stop  ? ' 

'  By  no  means.  I  should  beg  your  pardon  for  inter- 
rupting you.' 

He  bowed  and  went  on. 

Then  up  spoke  the  stalwart  giant,  '  He,  my  master, 
must  not  know  what  it  is  to  fear  and  tremble  at  the 
name  of  any  foe.  So  I  leave  your  service  straight- 
way, .and  journey  till  I  find  if  this  stronger  King, 
and  wiser,  shall  be  more  unto  my  mind.'  So  he  wan- 
dered, seeking  Satan,  up  and  clown  the  mountain  steep, 
far  across  the  trackless  desert,  through  lone  forests 
wild  and  deep  ;  and  he  rested  not,  or  faltered,  till  the 
Arch  Fiend  he  had  found  ;  and  he  bowed  himself  before 
him,  with  his  face  upon  the  ground,  crying  out  '  I  lie 
before  thee,  prostrate  in  the  very  dust  ;  may  my  right 
hand  fail,  if  ever  it  prove  recreant  to  its  trust.'  Then 
the  subtile,  wily  tempter,  answered  '  Join  my  ranks,  I 
pray  ;  I  have  need  of  loyal  servants,  so  I  welcome  you  to- 
day.' And  they  journeyed  on  together,  striding  o'er  the 
sunny  land,  past  the  shining  wastes  of  desert  with  its 
heaps  of  golden  sand ;  till,  anear  an  nn;'ient  city,  they 
paused  to  rest  and  drink  from  a  little  wayside  fountain 
with  a  cross  above  its  brink, — just  a  little  cross  of  carv- 


THE   LEGEND    OF    ST.    CHRISTOPHER.  143 

ing  with  a  figure  graven  there  ;  yet  to  drink  from  that 
pure  fountain,  even  Satan  did  not  dare. 

'Ah,  my  master,' quoth  the  giant,  'I  have  loved  thy 
service  well ;  but  before  this  cross  thou  tremblest,  and 
thou  must  the  reason  tell.' 

'Aye,  I  tremble,'  answered  Satan  ;  'on  this  cross  the 
Saviour  died.  He,  the  LORD  of  earth  and  heaven,  greater 
than  all  kings  beside,  now  is  crowned  with  might  and 
glory,  seated  on  His  Father's  throne,  with  both  earth 
and  hell  beneath  him, — this  is  Christ  whose  power  I 
own.' 

'  Then  I  leave  thee,'  quoth  the  giant,  '  and  I  seek  the 
Holy  One.  He  shall  be  the  King,  my  Father,  and  I  will 
be  his  son. ' 

So  he  left  the  arch  deceiver,  and  lie  wandered  far  and 
wide,  asking  where  to  find  this  Saviour,  Who  for  love  of 
sinners  died.  Then  an  ancient  hermit  met  him  journeying 
on  his  weary  way,  and  he  taught  the  giant  bearer  how  to 
Jesus  he  should  pray — taugljt  him  of  the  great  All  Fa- 
ther, Who  was  pitiful  and  kind,  till  the  scales  fell  from 
his  vision,  and  he  saw,  who  once  was  blind.  Longed  he 
then  with  deeds  of  daring,  love  and  fealty,  then  to  bring 
to  the  feet  of  his  new  Master,  Christ  the  Lord,  Who  was 
his  King. 

'  Knowest  thou  a  deep,  wide  river,'  asked  the  hermit  old 
and  gray,  'rushing  down  between  dark  chasms,  cleaving 
through  the  rocks  its  way  ?  strong  and  rapid  is  the  cur- 
rent, and  upon  its  dreary  shore  many  pause  and  shrink 
affrighted,  flaring  not  to  venture  o'er.  Thou  canst  aid 
them,  mighty  giant,  thou  canst  lend  a  helping  band,  and 
if  Christ  the  Master  will  it,  thou  canst  bring  them  safe 
to  land.' 

So  went  Offero  rejoicing,  crossed  the  foaming,  swollen 


144  CLOVERLY. 

tide,  built  a  simple  hut  of  branches,  and  became  the  pil- 
grim's guide.  Many  fainting  souls  he  strengthened, 
many  saved  from  death  and  los-;,  while  all  the  time  be- 
fore him  rose  that  figure  on  the  Cross — rose  the  figure, 
fair  and  saintly  ;  deep  the  wounds  on  hands  and  feet,  with 
a  face  of  wondrous  beauty,  and  a  smile  both  pure  and 
sweet.  '  Thou  art  doing  well,  brave  giant;  keep  thy  Faith 
in  Him  "Who  died,'  these  the  words  that  ever  sounded 
clear  above  the  roaring  tide  ;  and  his  soul  was  greatly 
strengthened  by  these  words  of  holy  cheer,  and  he  labor- 
ed on  untiring,  feeling  neither  pain  nor  fear.  Now  one 
night  when  he  was  sleeping  in  his  hut  beside  the  stream, 
faintly  calling,  calling,  calling,  broke  a  voice  upon  his 
dream.  '  Offero.'it  still  kept  calling,  '  wake  at  once,  good 
Offero;  carry  me  across  the  river;  thou  wilt  bear  me  safe, 
I  know.'  Now  the  waves  were  tossing  wildly,  and  the 
winds  rose  fierce  and  high,  yet  above  the  roar  of  tempest 
floated  down  that  childish  cry  :  'lam  weary,'  it  kept 
calling,  'I  am  weary  with  the  fight ;  come  and  bear  me 
safely  over  in  your  giant  arms  to-night.'  '  I  am  coming,' 
called  the  bearer,  '  I  am  coming  to  your  aid,  with  my 
good  and  trusty  palm  staff;  little  one,  be  not  afraid.' 
Then  the  angry  clouds  just  parted,  and  a  trembling 
moonbeam  shone  down  upon  the  foamy  waters — strug- 
gling there  a  child  alone.  Then  he  caught  the  littlo 
stranger,  laid  the  golden  head  to  rest,  wound  his  giant 
arms  about  him,  folded  him  upon  his  breasf. 
'  Courage  ! '  cried  the  stalwart  giant,  '  I  will  bring  you 
safe  to  shore,'  but  the  child  made  never  answer,  only 
clinging  as  before.  And  the  waves  rolled  high  and  high- 
e1*,  and  the  burden  heavier  grew — scarcely  'gainst  the  an- 
gry current  could  the  giant  struggle  through ;  yet  he 
toiled  on,  breasting  bravely  raging  wind  and  stormy 


THE   LEGEND    OF   ST.    CHKISTOPHER.-  145 

tide — with  the  aid  of  his  good  palm  free,  safely  reached 
the  other  side.  'Ah  !  whom  have  I  borne,'  he  murmured, 
'  who  is  it  my  strength  has  tried  ? '  Then  the  cbild  look- 
ed up  and  answered  '  'Tis  the  Lord  Who  for  thee  died. 
Long  hast  thou  desired  to  see  me,  long  desired  thy  love 
to  prove,  know  to-night  that  thou  hast  borne  Me,  and  I 
bless  thee  with  my  love.  Plant  thy  palm  tree  now,  good 
bearer,  here  upon  the  solid  eartb,  and  the  tender  shoots 
uprising  shall  be  type  of  thy  new  birth.'  And,  at  the 
instant  bidding,  budded  forth  the  tender  green  ;  cluster- 
ing dates  hung  from  its  branches — stranger  sight  were 
never  seen.  Then  the  raging  wind  was  silenced,  and  a 
voice  both  sweet  and  low  whispered  'He  who  bore  the 
Saviour,  must  be  called  Christ  Offero ' ;  but  the  little 
child  had  vanished  ;  and  alone,  as  heretofore,  stood  the 
giant  by  the  river  gazing  on  the  opposite  shore. 

Still  in  quaint,  old  German  cities,  on  the  hillsides  clad 
with  vine,  in  the  castle,  in  the  hamlet,  and  along  the 
flowing  Rhine — when  the  quiet  Summer  sunsets  die 
along  the  glowing  west,  and  the  wee  ones,  tired  of  play- 
ing, lean  upon  the  mothers'  breasts — is  the  legend  oft  re- 
peated ;  rich  and  poor,  and  high  and  low,  tell  the  chil- 
dren how  the  giant's  name  became  Christoffero. 

The  legend  was  ended.  I  had  watched  him  while  he 
was  speaking,  and  saw  his  face  brightening,  his  eyes 
kindling  with  earnest  light  and  thought — but  when  he 
ceased  I  started  as  if  from  a  reverie. 

'  We  shall  make  you  tell  us  legends  whenever  we  come 
to  the  woods,'  said  Miss  Homans  graciously,  'only  I  want 
to  know  why  you  told  us  this.  Is  there  a  meaning  under 
it  all  that  we  nre  to  take  individually  to  ourselves  ? ' 

'  That  I  leave  to  your  own  judgment,'  said  Mr.  Aymar. 


146  CLOYERLY. 

'  I  have  simply  told  the  old  story, — you  must  draw  you* 
own  inferences. ' 

Flo  was  looking  up  at  him  with  a  rare  expression  that 
lit  her  eyes  at  times  and  made  their  crystal  depths  liquid 
and  dark  with  intense  inward  feeling,  but  she  dropped 
them  again  when  Miss  Homans  said,  turning  to  look  at 
her,  '  What  were  you  going  to  say — or,  what  were  you 
thinking  of,  my  dear  ? ' 

'I  thought — perhaps,'  hesitated  Flo,  'we  might  all  be 
Christofferos  if  we  tried ;  sometimes — sometimes  the 
burden  might  be  so  light  and  small  we  would  not  know.' 

'  Not  until  we  had  crossed  the  river,'  said  Mr.  Aymar 
softly  ;  and  then  he  rose  and  gave  his  arm  to  Flo,  and  her 
face,  uplifted  to  his,  seemed  almost  spiritual  in  its  beauty 
to  me,  with  the  soft  glow  of  the  san  ;et  resting  upon  it. 

'  Yes,  we  must  go  home, '  said  Meg,  rousing  herself  ;  but 
our  walk  home  was  quiet  and  grave,  and  when  we  did 
talk,  it  was  of  more  solemn  and  earnest  things  than  had 
occupied  our  minds  in  coming. 

After  all  there  was  some  magnetism  about  Mr.  Aymar. 
Even  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  sweet  it  would  be, 
after  the  river  was  crossed,  to  find  that  one,  unconscious- 
ly, had  borne  some  little  burden  for  the  love  of  Christ. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TANGLED   THKEADS. 

There  was  a  little  change  in  my  life  after  that  day  on*, 
the  cliffs  with  Mr.  Aymar.  Sometimes  I  hoped  that  it 
might  be  a  change  for  the  better,  although  I  could  scarce- 
ly have  defined  even  to  myself  of  what  it  consisted,  it 
was  all  so  made  up  of  longings  and  failures.  I  seemed 
to  be  leading  a  sort  of  dual  existence — a  pleasant,  quiet, 
truthful  sort  of  life  with  my  mother  and  sisters  ;  a  gay, 
careless,  contradictory  one,  among  the  new  friends  who 
had  gathered  about  us.  There  were  limitless  outlooks 
from  this  latter  state,  while  the  other  was  simple  and  set- 
tled as  it  were  for  all  time.  Onca  in  awhile  that  unde- 
fined something  would  flash  across  my  mind,  comparable 
only  to  the  stray  gleams  of  goodness  I  had  when  I  was  a> 
child,  and  pretended  '  very  hard  '  to  make  it  last ;  but  I 
always  repressed  such  indications  of  feeling  before  Mr. 
Aymar,  and  he,  I  fear,  imagined  that  I  never  had  any 
longings  at  all,  or  even  in  a  furtive  way  tried  to  do  my 
duty. 

Full  of  contradictions  as  I  was  about  this  time,  of  course 
I  rarely  trusted  myself  to  be  myself  before  Mr.  Aymar. 
He  kept  on  coming  to  the  house  very  quietly,  content- 
ing himself  with  a  chat  with  mother,  if  we  were  away. 
Bess  said  he  came  to  see  the  house,  for  he  never  asked 
for  any  one  in  particular.  It  was  certainly  pleasant  to_ 
have  him  come ;  yes — I  may  surely  write  that  down 
here,  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  be  one's  self  sometimes,  to 
set  down  unreservedly  just  one's  thoughts  and  emotions 
—yes,  I  was-glad  of  these  diffusive  little  visits  of  Mr. 


148  CLOVERLY. 

Aymar's,  and  yet  when  lie  came,  I  acted  as  if  it  were  a 
matter  of  no  consequence  at  all.  I  was  proud  of  his 
friendship,  I  even  liked  Ms  tendency  to  sermonizing 
•with  me,  aud  his  invariable  habit  of  taking  up  my  lightest 
\vord  and  reproving  my  levity  and  thoughtlessness.  If 
he  happened  not  to  come  when  I  expected  him,  I  felt  a 
vague  sense  of  uneasiness  that  T  did  not  stop  to  analyze. 
And  yet  I  would  say  to  Meg,  '  A  very  presuming  young 
man,  he  needs  snubbing  every  day  of  his  life.' 

'  What  !  Mr.  Aymar  ?  your  clergyman  ? '  Meg  would 
reply,  lifting  her  brows  in  astonishment.  '  What  do  you 
find  about  him  to  wan-ant  such  audacity  ?  ' 

'  His  black  waistcoat,  for  one  thing.  I  am  too  secular 
in  my  tastes  to  like  that  or  his  broad  brimmed  hat.' 

'As  if  a  matter  of  dress  were  like  opinions  !  Barbara 
Fox,  you  are  demented  ! '  and  Meg  would  shrug  her 
shoulders,  while  I  would  mutter  something  about  lunacy 
being  my  normal  condition. 

Clearly  Meg  and  I  would  never  agree  about  Mr. 
Aymar. 

Neal  Huntington,  too,  still  lingered  among  us,  though 
even  he,  I  suspected,  could  scarcely  have  told  why.  It 
gave  a  little  excitement  and  interest  to  our  quiet  life  to 
speculate  upon  the  causes  of  his  stay,  as  well  as  to  watch 
Flo,  who  had  grown  pale  and  listless,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  and  was  not  herself  at  all,  though  she  was  neither 
selfishly  absorbed  nor  dead  to  her  own  duties.  Father 
said  the  heat  of  the  Summer  had  prostrated  her,  and 
mother  sometimes  remonstrated  with  her  because  of  her 
long  Wiilks  and  strict  attention  to  the  daily  services,  while 
even  Meg  and  I  would  use  our  influence  to  keep  her  at 
home,  but  she  usually  smiled  away  our  fears,  and  went 
on  with  her  little  charities  just  the  same.  In  spite  ui  the 


TANGLED   THREADS.  149 

vague  anxiety  she  caused  us,  Mr.  Huntington  and  Flo 
were  still  the  hero  and  heroine  of  our  fairy  lale,  which 
had  all  the  excitement  and  newness  of  such  a  story,  as 
their  interest  in  each  other  grew  and  developed.  The 
only  difficulty  in  the  way  was  Mr.  Aymar.  It  was  so  im- 
possible to  know  where  to  place  him  in  our  little  family 
drama.  He  was  neither  a  rival  nor  a  jealous  lover, — he 
was  only  a  friend  and  pastor, — yet  he  certainly  paid  us 
more  visits  than  pastors  usually  bestow  upon  their  flock, 
and  he  was  kinder,  far  kinder  to  me  than  I  deserved, 
sometimes  fairly  frightening  me  into  doing  my  duty  for  a 
season.  Gradually  I  was  learning  to  like  him — though  I 
don't  think  I  would  have  acknowledged  it  except  to  the 
pages  of  this  chronicle.  If  mother  ever  condescends  to 
open  and  read  it,  and  if  I  ever  have  the  courage  to  let 
her,  I  wonder  what  she  will  think  of  her  daughter  Bar- 
bara ! 

One  afternoon  when  Flo  was  standing  irresolutely  by 
the  window,  watching  the  men  in  the  fields,  and  I  was 
idling  over  a  book,  she  turned  around  to  me  suddenly  and 
said,  '  Barbara  dear,  you  might  do  me  such  a  favor  this 
morning,  if  you  only  would. ' 

I  threw  down  my  book  in  a  minute.  Flo  rarely  if  ever 
asked  favors,  she  was  always  conferring  them  instead. 

'Anything  you  wish,  Flo,'  I  said.  'I'm  gkd  enough  to 
have  the  opportunity  ;  only  I  do  hope  it  won't  be  an  er- 
rand to  some  eld  woman.' 

She  smiled  and  said,  '  No,  it  is  to  a  young  one,  dear,  and 
a  very  poor,  sad,  young  woman  too.  I  hardly  feel — '  she 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  added—'  strong  enough  to 
go  there  this  intensely  hot  morning,  and  yet  I  promised 
to  see  her  and  bring  her  some  work,  if  I  could  get  it.' 


150  CLOVEULY. 

'  Don't  you  feel  well,  Flo  ?  '  I  asked,  stealing  an  arm 
around  her  waist. 

'  Yes,  but  it  is  very  hot  and  close,  and  waiting  tires 
me  so  much  lately  ;  besides  you  said  you  were  going  out 
to  the  cliff's,  and  it  is  only  a  little  further.  I  am  afraid  we 
may  have  a  shower,  though.' 

'  O  no  danger  of  that,'  I  said  cheerfully,  '  and  I  alwavs 
have  my  umbrella.  Get  your  things  ready,  Lady  Bounti- 
tiful,  and  let  me  be  off.' 

Fortunately  it  was  not  a  package  of  flannel,  or  a  basket 
of  provision,  but  a  message  instead,  to  Matty  Price.  I 
knew  the  young  woman  very  well  to  whom  Flo  referred. 
She  had  been  married  about  two  years  before  to  an  ac- 
tive, industrious  fisherman,  who  had  been  lost  in.  one  of 
the  early  Spring  gales,  leaving  her  a  young  widow  with  a 
two  months'  old  baby,  and  nothing  to  live  upon  now  that 
her  main  support  was  gone.  From  time  to  time  the 
ladies  of  the  parish  would  find  washing,  cleaning,  or 
coarse  sewing  for  her  to  do,  and  Flo  had  been  one  of 
those  most  interested  in  her  sorrowful  case. 

I  found  her  in  her  mother's  little  house,  a  white-wash- 
ed structure,  more  deserving  the  name  of  cabin  than 
house,  but  scrupulously  neat,  and  quite  free  of  that  dis- 
agreeable, all  pervading  smell  of  fish,  which  supplanted 
other  odors  in  this  vicinity.  Poor  girl !  The  brown 
hands  that  had  been  so  busy  in  hauling  the  nets,  were 
folded  all  too  suddenly  for  her — folded,  white  and  still — 
it  must  have  been  a  hard  thing  to  understand.  She  was 
rocking  her  baby  in  a  rough  wooden  cradle,  droning 
some  sort  of  melancholy  lullaby  to  it  as  she  looked  gloom- 
ily and  wearily  out  over  the  cruel  great  ocean,  that  seemed 
mocking  her  to-day  with  its  sunniest  smile.  She  only 
noticed  me  by  a  nod  as  I  came  in  at  the  door,  then  turn- 


TANGLED   THREADS.  151 

ed  her  eyes  back  to  the  water  again  ;  but  the  old  mother 
rose  and  gave  me  a  seat,  with  a  sort  of  disappointed  look 
on  her  face  when  I  told  her  from  whom  I  came.  I  fancy 
that  Flo's  visits  must  have  been  the  one  stray  gleam  of 
sunshine  that  had  penetrated  into  this  dark  and  cheerless 
place.  There  was  a  little  show  of  interest  and  brighten- 
ing up  of  both  faces  when  I  told  my  eirand  ;  she  was  to 
come  up  to  the  house  for  a  couple  of  days  of  extra  clean- 
ing, and  then  Miss  Wagner  had  some  fine  washing  to 
give  her.  My  heart  ached  for  the  poor  young  creature, 
and  the  little  unconscious  baby  sleeping  in  the  cradle. 
I  had  thought  it  a  perfect  bore  when  Flo  asked  me  to  go, 
but  I  lingered,  talking  to  them  both,  and  becoming  in- 
terested, in  spite  of  myself,  in  her  pitiful  story. 

'  It  was  only  such  a  little  while  ago  and  we  were  so 
happy,'  she  said,  shaking  her  head  mournfully  ;  'he  ware 
such  a  kind  lad,  and  for  he  to  go  down  without  a  word  o' 
warning — -it  were  just  awful — and  baby  and  me  a  wailin' 
home,'  and  then  she  fell  to  crying  over  the  little  thing, 
while  her  mother,  honest  old  soul,  wiped  her  eyes  and 
comforted  her  because  it  was  God's  will. 

'As  if  it  was  His  will  I  should  break  my  heart,'  the  girl 
sobbed.  'Aye,  aye  !  you  may  all  talk — it's  the  minister's 
way,  and  it's  Miss  Flo's  way — they  both  mean  well,  but 
they  don't  none  on  'em  know.' 

Her  pitiful  crying  went  to  my  heart.  '  I  am  very  sorry 
for  you,'  I  said.  'Life  is  hard  at  the  best,'  with  a  sort 
of  feeling  that  I  knew  nothing  of  its  hardness,  aud  was 
the  last  one  in  the  world  to  venture  such  a  remark  to  a 
sorrowing  woman  ;  but  she  seized  upon  the  idea  eagerly. 

'It's  hard  on  us  poor  folks,'  she  said  bitteily,  'and  it 
may  be  to  them  that's  finer  flesh  and  blood.  I'm  not  say- 
ing "  There's  woe  and  sorrow  enough  and  to  spare  in  the 


152  CLOVERLY. 

world,  and  there's  death  ahead  for  us  all."  I  don't  ex- 
pect to  understand  it.' 

I  felt  the  tears  coming  into  my  eyes  as  I  looked  from 
her  down  to  the  little  white  face  of  the  bleeping  baby.  I 
wished  that  I  could  comfort  her,  but  if  Mr.  Aymar  and 
Flo  had  done  her  no  good,  what  was  there  left  for  me  to 
say  ?  I  rose  to  go,  and  then  noticed  for  the  first  time 
how  the  brightness  of  the  Summer  day  bad  suddenly 
been  overcast.  A  storm  was  sweeping  up  from  the  east, 
and  a  faint  mutter  of  thunder  was  heard  in  the  distance. 

'Better  come  back  and  wait,'  said  the  old  woman,  fol- 
lowing me  to  the  door.  'A  poor  roof's  better  'n  none, 
and  a  rain  what  comes  up  quick,  is  soon  over. ' 

'  O  I'll  be  home  before  a  drop  of  rain  falls,'  I  replied, 
hurrying  away.  'I'm  a  good  walker,  and  it  is  only  a 
short  distance,  after  all. ' 

'Aye,  aye  ;  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  young — I  was  that 
myself  once,  and  I  minded  a  mile  no  more'n  a  step  now,' 
I  heard  her  say  to  herself  as  I  turned  away. 

I  had  not  walked  far  when  the  coming  storm  began  to 
assert  itself.  First  a  sudden  swaying  of  the  trees,  then 
a  low  moaning,  then  a  stillness,  followed  by  a  loader  out- 
cry, warned  me  that  it  would  be  well  to  turn  in  some- 
where for  shelter,  if  possible.  I  had  left  all  the  cabins 
far  behind  in  my  rapid  walk,  and  there  was  nothing  be- 
fore me  but  the  long  strip  of  beach  and  the  rocks  beyond. 
If  there  had  been  a  cottage  or  even  a  boat  near,  some 
shelter  that  I  might  crawl  under  until  the  force  of  the 
storm  had  spent  itself,  but  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind 
in  sight,  and  I  hurried  on.  A  little  later  and  the  omin- 
ous clouds  resolved  themselves  to  rain — a  sudden,  driv- 
ing shower,  that  albeit  it  would  soon  be  over,  was  none 
the  less  uncomfortable  to  be  exposed  to. 


TANGLED    THREADS  153 

I  stood  for  a  moment  under  its  fall  fury,  wondering 
what  I  should  do.  Usually  I  was  very  indifferent  to 
small  inconveniences  in  the  way  of  weather,  but  although 
I  carried  an  umbrelhx,  it  was  impossible  to  r;dse  it  in 
such  a  wind,  and  my  hat  was  a  flimsy  fabric,  not  calcu- 
lated to  stand  a  drenching  rain,  while  my  shoes  were  so 
thin  they  were  soaked  in  a  minute.  I  stood  quite  still, 
pondering  while  the  rain  poured  down  pitilessly,  reduc- 
ing my  hat  to  a  gelatinous  substance  on  my  head,  and 
my  feet  to  the  condition  of  scows,  when  I  bethought  my- 
self of  a  shelter  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  which  had  been 
our  favorite  resort,  of  late.  Bob  and  Bess  had  discover- 
ed it  one  day,  and  had  tried  their  best  to  imagine  it  a 
cave,  but  it  was  only  a  well  worn  fissure  in  the  rock,  a 
place  that  the  waves  had  scooped  out  by  constant  fret- 
ting and  beating.  It  could  hold  one  or  two  persons  quite 
comfortably,  and  at  least  would  prove  a  screen  in  a  pour 
ing  rain.  I  turned  back  instantly,  and  ran  for  it  as  fast 
as  my  wet  garments  would  allow  me  ;  but  not  too  soon, 
for  down  came  the  rain  pelting  upon  me  with  such  vio- 
lence that  my  limp  hat  lay  like  a  battered  ruin  against 
my  cheeks.  In  another  instant  I  dashed  into  the  cave, 
and  almost  into  the  arms  of  Neal  Huntington.  The  tre- 
mor from  running,  as  well  as  the  surprise,  made  me  quite 
speechless,  and  putting  my  hand  upon  my  heart,  I  pant- 
ed, gasped,  and  finally  burst  itito  a  long  laugh. 

'  I  was  just  wishing  for  some  one,'  he  said  ;  '  it  was  be- 
ginning to  be  awfully  doleful  in  here.  I'm  so  glad  you 
thought  of  this  place.  How  did  you  know  anything 
about  it,  though  ? ' 

'  Bess  told  me  ;  we  were  roconnoitering  one  day,  and  she 
found  it.  She  plays  gipsey  here,  but  Flo  and  I  go  up 
higher  and  take  the  clifL ' 


154  CLOVERLY. 

'  Your  sister  always  takes  tlie  higher  ground  in  every- 
thing, does  slie  not  ?  '  he  said  ;  '  but  this  is  my  place. 
I  may  come  here  sometimes  and  look  up  at  her  as  she 
walks  so  far  above — like  the  man  in  the  Bible  who  was  in 
torment  and  lifted  up  his  eyes.  O  you  think  I  am  ir- 
reverent, do  you  ?  then  I  shall  be  sure  to  stop  ;  but  your 
sister  would  not  think  so,  Miss  Barbara.' 

'My  sister  has  remarkable  ideas,  sometimes,'  I  said 
stiffly  ;  'I  am  not  as  good  as  she,  but  I'think  she  is  too 
lenient  by  far  to  you.' 

'  To  nie  ? '  and  he  opened  his  blue  eyes  wide  in  surprise. 

'  Yes,  to  you,'  I  answered  pertly.  '  She  wont  acknowl- 
edge that  you  are  in  error — we've  discussed  you  many, 
many  times.  I'm  always  down  on  you — you  know  that. 
I  have  been  ever  since  that  day  when  you  made  me  mis- 
erable with  your  idle  humbugging.  I  shall  never  for- 
get it ;  but  Flo  excuses  all  your  misdemeanors.' 

'Miss  Florilla  is  very  good,'  he  said,  with  sudden 
gravity  ;  '  but  see  how  wet  you  are.  Your  hat — ' 

'Is  nothing  but  a  pancake  now,'  I  said  ruefully,  turn- 
ing it  on  my  hand ;  nevertheless  he  took  it  from  me, 
gave  it  a  good  shake,  together  with  my  silk  cape  that 
hung  like  a  rag  about  nay  shoulders. 

'You  needn't  mind  about  that,' said  I,  'the  thing  is 
utterly  spoiled — nothing  short  of  a  miracle  could  restore 
it.' 

He  stood  looking  down  upon  me  a  moment,  and  then 
he  made  me  sit  upon  a  stone  while  he  took  off  his  coat 
and  wrapped  it  about  me,  in  spite  of  my  protestations. 

'Now  let  me  look  at  your  feet,'  he  commanded. 

'  Yon  can't  do  any  thing  here,'  I  laughed  as  I  thrust  for- 
ward two  shapeless  things  that  looked  as  if  they  hod  been 
dipped  in  black  glue  and  come  out  worse  for  the  dipping. 


TANGLED    TEI.EADS.  155 

'  I  huve  a  greab  mind  to  offer  you  my  boots,  only  I 
know  they  would  be  too  small  for  you — but  "what  shall 
we  do  ?  Do  you  know  you  will  certainly  take  cold  ? ' 

'I  never  took  a  cold  in  my  life,  and  I  do  not  know  you 
ab  all  in  this  new  character  of  knight  and  cavalier.  It  is 
the  very  first  time  that  you  were  ever  polite  to  me,  and  it 
is  almost  embarrassing — pray  do  not  give  yourself  so 
much  trouble.' 

'  O  I'd  always  be  civil  to  you  if  you  would  only  do  tha 
fair  thing  by  me,  once  in  a  way.  I  always  intended  to 
be  polite  and  considerate  of  ladies'  feelings,  until  you  gave 
me  that  delicious  chance  for  a  tease  at  Mrs.  Desmond's. 
Now  that  we  know  each  other  so  well,  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you  that  I  go  off  into  fits  sometimes  even  now,  as  I 
recall  the  expression  of  your  face  when  I  mentioned  Mrs. 
Desmond  as  my  aunt.' 

I  looked  up  at  him  with  what  I  intended  for  a  wither- 
ing glance,  but  I  changed  my  mind,  and  we  both  laugh- 
ed until  the  old  rocks  rung. 

'Any  one  would  think  we  were  a  couple  of  children,'  he 
said,  '  to  hear  us  laughing,  and  yet  I  never  felt  less  like  it 
in  my  life.  Do  you  know,  before  you  dashed  in  here 
and  surprised  me  nearly  out  of  my  wits,  I  was  making  a 
mental  calculation  of  what  practical  use  1  was  in  the 
world,  and  wondering' — here  be  became  a  little  embar- 
rassed— '  if  any  one  would  be  the  better  off  for  my  exist- 
ence. Don't  you  see  ? — it  comes  rough  on  a  young  fel- 
low, with  no  belongings  in  the  world,  to  drift  along 
through  life  with  no  one  to  care  for  him.' 

'  Why  do  you  drift,  then  ?  Why  not  stop  now  and 
moor  your  boat  somewhere.  Such  a  very  elegant  young 
man  as  Mr.  Neal  Huntington  might  land  at  almost  any 
point  in  the  stream  and  find  moorings.' 


156  CLOVERLY. 

'  O  nonsense,  now  '    I  feel  like  being  sensible.' 

'  It  must  be  an  odd  sensation. ' 

'It  is  ;  for  once  I  am  tirel  of  being  idle  and  good  for 
nothing. ' 

'  Why  do  you  not  go  to  the  other  extreme,  then,  and  be 
of  some  practical  use  in  the  world  ?  One  cau't  live  on 
delusive  theories  all  one's  life. ' 

'  I  never  tried  either  theory  or  practice,'  he  said,  stoop- 
ing to  pick  up  a  pebble  and  cast  it  out  on  the  sand.  '  I 
believe  I  have  lived  in  a  state  of  simple  passivity.  It  has 
always  been  so  with  me,  you  know, — up  to  this  time  I 
mean.  I  feel  now  as  if  this  sort  of  thing  must  end,  and  I 
can't  quite  go  back  on  the  old  beaten  track.' 

'  Why  should  you  wish  to  ?  ' 

'  I  don't ;  I  only  keep  on  because  I  don't  know  what 
else  to  do — my  future  seems  like  that,'  pointing  to  the 
mist  that  hung  over  sea  and  sky  ;  '  just  about  as  uncertain 
and  vague.  But  if  I  ever  do  rouse  myself  and  amount  to 
something,  it  will  be  because  I  have  been  allowed  to  be 
upon  such  an  intimate  footing  in  your  mother's  house- 
hold, and  because  I  have  before  me  continually  the  beau- 
ty of  Miss  Flo's  life. ' 

He  had  seated  nimself  on  the  stone  by  my  side  when 
he  put  his  coat  about  me,  but  now  he  rose,  walking  nerv- 
ously up  and  down  the  narrow  space  before  me  ;  yet  I 
could  see,  in  the  uncertain  light,  the  quick  look  of  glad- 
ness that  flushed  his  face  as  he  spoke  Flo's  name.  Per- 
haps our  fairy  tale  was  coming  true  !  Perhaps  he  really 
loved  Flo,  and  I  had  nob  been  such  a  silly  dreamer,  after 
all ! — yet  I  would  not,  from  very  perversity,  let  him  see 
that  I  was  glad  ;  he  should  not  think  we  were  so  willing 
to  give  up  our  beautiful  siater  to  the  first  one  who  was 
ready  to  appreciate  her. 


TANGLED   THE E ADS.  157 

'Flo's  life  is  so  perfect,' I  said,  'it  can't  help  doing 
good  in  the  worl  J.  Every  one  admires  her.' 

'But  I  love  her,'  he  said  suddenly,  blushing  all  over  his 
handsome  face.  '  I  don't  miud  telling  you  at  all,  only  I 
am  quite  certain  you  have  known  it  all  along.  I  only  wish 
I  were  as  sure  that  she  cared  anything  for  me.' 

I  made  no  reply  to  this  outburst.  Now  that  I  actually 
knew  the  truth,  I  was  quite  surprised  to  see  how  coolly  I 
could  take  it. 

After  a  minute's  silence  he  said,  'And  you  haven't  a 
word  to  give  me  for  this  confidence,  Miss  Barbara  ?  I 
did  think  you  might  tell  me  "whether  you  were  glad  or 
sorry,  and — By  Jove  !  you  don't  think  it  13  Aymir  she 
likes,  after  all  ?  ' 

'  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,'  I  answered.  '  He  conies  to 
the  house  a  great  deal. ' 

'  But  he  comes  as  a  clergyman.' 

'  Clergymen  are  human  beings,'  I  said  bluntly  ;  '  they 
are  quite  as  apt  to  fall  in  love  as  idle  young  men  ;  and 
devout  young  women,  like  Flo  for  instance,  are  quite  as 
apt  to  like  them  as  to  throw  away  their  affection  upon  a 
silly  boy.  Don't  look  at  me  in  that  w  y  with  such  a  de- 
spairing expression  of  face,'  I  went  on.  '  I  don't  think 
Flo  cares  for  you  at  all — I  hope  she  docs  not,  for  I  am 
sure  you  are  not  worthy  of  her  ;  not  that  I  absolutely 
dislike  you  — I  understand  you  a  little  better  than  I  clid 
at  that  dreadful  garden  party  of  Mrs.  Desmond's  ;  but  you 
are  not  worthy  of  her — no  one  is,'  I  ended  warmly. 

'  I  acknowledge  that,  Miss  Barbara,  I  acknowledge  my 
own  inferiority  ;  I  never  feel  it  so  keenly  as  when  I  am 
with  her.  She  is  the  only  woman  who  ever  made  me 
long  to  be  g  >od  and  have  an  aim  and  purpose  in  life. 
You  will  not  believe  ine — but  if  God  oaly  gives  her  to 


158  CLOVEKLY. 

me,  I  will  serve  Him  all  my  life  as  truly  as  I  love  her.' 

'  I  do  not  believe  in  such  a  religion,'  I  said,  '  and  I  am 
still  more  sure  that  Flo  will  not.  The  idea  of  becoming 
pious  because  one  is  in  love.  That  is  just  like  you.' 

'It  is  not  like  me  at  all,' he  argued  soberly.  'It  is 
very  unlike  the  Neal  Huntington  of  six  months  ago,  to 
desire  a  change  for  the  better  ;  but  I  have  been  uncon- 
sciously led  to  long  for  holy  things  because  of  the  beau- 
tiful example  before  me.  She  has  been  all  the  world  to 
me  in  this  short  time,'  and  his  voice  trembled  as  he 
spoke.  '  I  had  never  any  high  conceptions  of  life  here, 
and  I  never  thought  of  the  life  hereafter  until  I  knew 
her.  Now  it  seems  to  me  that  if  I  ever  gain  heaven,  it  will 
be  because  she  will  lead  me  thither.  Do  you  think  I  am 
wicked  ?  Do  you  think  it  wrong  that  I  should  be  so  pre- 
sumptuous ?  And  yet  you  don't  know  how  eagerly  I  am 
seeking  for  everything  that  it  is  good.  It  seems  so  easy 
for  some  people,  their  lives  are  just  laid  out  like  a  map, 
and  from  the  very  beginning  they  never  have  any  trouble. ' 

'  But  the  lines  on  a  map  are  not  all  even  and  pleasant 
to  trace  out — the  rivers  run  zigzag,  and  are  hard  to  fol- 
low up.' 

'  Yes,  I  know  ;  but  they  are  marked  out  plain  and  clear, 
and  all  they  have  got  to  do  is  flow  on — the  little  streams 
empty  into  the  big  rivers,  and  the  big  rivers  are  lost  in 
the  ocean. ' 

'You  can  stop  there,'  I  said  ;  'they  are  not  lost — they 
go  on  to  swell  the  seas.  I  think  there  is  something  beau- 
tiful in  being  a  tributary,  if  one  can't  be  a  big  river  or  an 
ocean.' 

'I'd  be  glad  if  I  could  be  anything,'  he  said,  dropping 
his  face  in  his  hands.  'And  I  do  wish  you  could  tell  me 
what  to  do.' 


TANGLED   THREADS.  159 

'I  ?  I'm  the  last  one  to  advise.  I'm  in  a  mental  quag- 
mire nearly  all  the  time,  myself.  I  think  you  had  better 
go  to  Flo  at  once. ' 

'Do  you  think  it  could  be  a  possible  thing  that  she 
cares  for  me  ? ' 

'  It  wouldn't  be  impossible  ;  most  women  like  their  in- 
feriors. I  tbink  I  should  try  some  surer  way  than  specur 
lating  upon  it  in  this  damp  place,  and  running  the  risk 
of  rheumatism  and  catarrh.  I  am  going  home.' 

'  Don't  go  ;  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  talk  to  you,  in  spite 
of  your  perversity.  It  is  raining  yet.' 

'  No,  it  is  not. ' 

We  both  peered  forward,  and  I  held  out  a  hand  to  see 
if  there  were  any  drops. 

'  No,  it  is  all  over,  and  I  must  hurry  home.  I  shall 
give  you  back  your  coat  now.' 

'But  you  will  take  cold.' 

'  No,  I  will  not;  and  do  you  suppose  I  would  walk  along 
the  road  with  this  coat  of  yours  thrown  around  me  ? 
You  are  the  most  absurd  boy.  However,  you  have 
been  very  kind  for  once  in  your  life.  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  be  polite  and  thank  you.  Now  I  will  go  home 
through  the  lane  back  of  the  house — no  one  will  see  me, 
and  I  shall  run  every  step  of  the  way.  Good  bye.' 

He  turned  around  and  gave  me  his  hand  :  '  Good-bye, 
Barbara,  I  am  going  to  call  you  that  now.  I  never 
thought  to  have  had  this  talk  with  you ;  say  nothing 
about  it,  please,  to  any  one.' 

'O  1  tell  Meg  everything,'  I  said.  'You  wont  mind  my 
telling  Meg.' 

'Indeed  I  do  ;  promise  that  you  will  not  say  a  word  to 
her  ? ' 

All  right,  then.     I  dare  say  I  shall  never  think  of 


160  CLOVEKLY. 

it  again.  "We  always  have  so  much  nonsense  to  discuss, 
I  consider  it  a  duty  to  get  it  out  of  my  mind  as  soon  as 
possible.  Here's  your  coat.' 

He  put  on  the  coat  that  I  handed  him,  and  came  out  of 
the  cave  with  me.  Perhaps  it  was  the  uncertain  twilight 
hue  within  that  made  his  face  so  pale,  but  I  was  almost 
sure  that  the  blue  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  What  a 
strange  thing  for  a  man  ! 

'  See,  the  sun  is  shining,'  I  said  quickly  ;  '  you  can  take 
that  for  a  good  omen.  And  there  is  a  strip  of  blue  sky — 
the  first  thing  you  know  there'll  be  a  rainbow.' 

For  while  we  had  been  talking  the  clouds  had  parted, 
and  a  cleft  of  pale  Summer  sunshine  fluttered  down  over 
the  wet  meadows  and  muddy  roa-is.  The  sea  still  lay 
shrouded  in  cold,  leaden  shadows,  but  the  strip  of  blue 
sky  was  gradually  widening  overhead,  and  a  faint  flush 
of  rose  color  stealing  into  the  dull  gray. 

'  I  suppose  you  must  go,'  said  my  companion,  rousing 
himself.  '  Think  what  you  please  of  me  and  my  con- 
fession. I  shall  not  change  my  mind  if  I  live  to  be  a 
Methusaleh.' 

'And  nobody  wants  you  to,  my  dear,'  I  said  to  myself  ; 
and  then  aloud,  '  Good-bye,  and  come  up  after  tea,'  and  I 
waved  my  battered  hat  as  he  disappeared  around  the 
other  side  of  the  rocks,  walking  rapidly  toward  the  place 
where  his  yacht  was  moored.  He  was  not  whistling  or 
singing,  as  was  his  wont,  and  I  scarcely  knew  him  in 
this  altered  mood  :  but  as  for  me,  I  literally  danced  in- 
stead of  running  all  the  way  back  to  Cleverly.  To  think 
that,  after  all,  my  dreams  were  coming  true  ! 

I  looked  back  when  I  reached  the  stile  leading  over  in- 
to the  garden  back  of  the  house.  The  clouds  were  scat- 
tered and  broken,  and  the  west  was  red  with  sunset  glow. 
The  world  behind  me  was  in  a  blaza  of  glory,  but  before 


TANGLED    THREADS.  161 

me,  like  a  vague  premonition  of  what  was  yet  to  bo,  the 
cold  gray  shadows  lay  without  a  glint  of  the  beauty  that 
was  dying  with  the  day. 

As  I  clashed  up  the  steps  of  the  piazza,  who  should 
come  forward  to  meet  me  but  Flo  and  Mr.  Ay  mar. 

'My  dear  Barbara,' said  Flo  in  her  tender  way,  CI 
have  been  so  worried.  Were  you  at  Matty  Price's  all  the 
time,  or  were  you  out  in  the  shower  ? ' 

'Shower?'  I  said  curtly,  'it  was  an  inundation — a 
second  flood,  and  I  was  one  of  the  wicked  ones  left  out' 
side  to  perish.  Please  let  me  pass,  Mr.  Aymar.  I  shall 
give  you  your  death  if  I  attempt  to  shake  hands. ' 

Nevertheless  he  followed  me  into  the  hall, — he  took 
my  hand  in  spite  of  my  refusal, — 'I  hope  you  will  not 
take  cold, '  he  said  in  his  low,  earnest  voice,  '  but  I  can- 
not refrain  from  telling  you  how  happy  you  make  me, 
now  that  you  are  interesting  yourself  in  the  poor  people 
down  at  the  shore.  I  am  sure  that  they  will  love  you 
when  they  know  you.' 

'They  never  will  get  the  chance,'  and  I  pulled  my 
hand  rudely  away.  '  I  am  never  going  to  do  a  good  deed 
again.  I  detest  Matty  Price  and  the  whole  lot,  and  I  am 
sure  I  have  taken  my  death.' 

'  I  am  very  sorry,'  he  said  gravely,  and  then  he  went 
back  to  Flo. 

'  The  presumption  of  a  man  ! '  I  exclaimed  angrily  to 
myself  as  I  dressed  for  tea.  '  The  idea  of  his  being 
with  Flo,  when  it  is  Neal  Huntington's  place. ' 

But  when  I  came  down  to  the  dining-room,  Mr.  Aymar 
had  gone,  and  Flo  could  give  no  reason  why  he  had  not 
staid  to  tea. 

'He  certainly  accepted  my  invitation  when  he  came, 
said  that  iunocent  youcg  woman. 


CHAPTEE 

THE  CLOUDING  OP    THE   SKY. 

Flo  began  to  act  very  strangely  about  this  time,  and 
from  being  much  among  our  friends  and  neighbors  grad- 
ually quite  withdrew  from  society,  avoiding  company, 
and  going  off  by  herself  to  visit  among  the  fishers'  fami- 
lies, whose  little  brown  huts  and  cabins  adorned  the 
shore  ;  or  she  would  walk  out,  as  far  as  she  was  able,  ou 
the  bold  cliffs,  and  sit  there  alone  most  of  the  day,  i£  we 
would  let  her,  gazing  out,  not  so  much  at  the  sea  itself:, 
as  at  the  uncertain  haze  between  it  and  the  sky, — the 
point  where  nothing  was  to  be  seen,  and  everything  left 
to  the  widest  conjecture.  The  water  lapped  soft.'y  upon 
the  sands  below,  ths  fishing  boats  came  in  and  out,  the 
far-away  white  sails  skimmed  the  water  like  sea  gulls  on 
the  wing,  and  the  vague  whisperings  of  the  sea  were  al- 
most the  only  sounds  that  stole  up  to  her  as  she  sat  there 
alone.  What  was  she  thinking  of  ?  When  we  would  ask 
her  she  would  smile,  and  say  that  she  had  a  great  deal  to 
think  over,  and  she  liked  to  be  alone.  And  Flo's  con- 
duct was  not  the  only  mystery  that  was  under  family  dis- 
cussion— Mr.  Huntington  conducted  himself  almost  as 
strangely  as  Flo.  He  came  to  the  house  incessantly  af- 
ter our  little  confidences  that  rainy  day  under  the  cliff, 
— came  with  the  most  assured,  boyishly  happy  manner, 
so  that  I  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  all  his  fears 
had  been  laid  aside ;  then  he  would  stay  away  for  days 
at  a  time,  would  be  feverishly  excited  when  he  came,  or 
run  to  the  other  extreme  and  be  in  the  depths  of  gloom. 
I  got  weary  of  watching  the  two,  and  concluded  there 


THE   CLOUDING    OF    THE   SKY..  163 

must  have  been  some  lovers'  qnarrel.  To  be  sure  co  one 
had  ever  quarrelled  with  Flo  since  she  had  been  able  to 
speak,  but,  as  I  argued,  that  was  always  the  way  they  did 
in  books,  and  now  that  Flo  had  a  lover  she  must  needs 
have  her  quarrel,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  But  the 
explanation  I  made  myself  did  not  satisfy  me.  I  had 
a  sort  of  inner  consciousness  there  was  something  more 
than  a  trifling  quarrel  under  it  all. 

One  morning — all  too  soon — the  end  of  this  long  sus- 
pense came.  Flo  and  I  were  in  the  parlor,  the  doors 
and  windows  all  standing  open,  and  the  light  \vind  com- 
ing in  slow,  Lazy  puffs,  through  the  half  closed  Venetian 
blinds.  I  sat  on  the  floor,  dawdling  over  a  crayon  sketch. 
It  was  too  warm  to  go  up  in  my  garret.  Meg  was  in  her 
room,  singing  blithely  as  a  bird  while  she  basted  the 
ruffles  on  a  new  lawn.  Flo  was  at  her  daily  practice,  but 
she  seemed  a  trifle  weary  and  distrait  over  it.  She  would 
play  a  few  bars,  languidly  enough,  then  stop,  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  her  music-book  slowly,  searching  for 
something  she  could  not  find, — touching  the  keys  softly 
and  idly, — breaking  into  little  trills  and  roulades,  as  if 
seized  by  sudden  impulse,  or  just  as  suddenly  dropping 
her  hands  in  her  lap,  as  if  she  were  weary  of  it  ail. 

To  this  day  I  can  see  her  sitting  there,  her  hands  fallen 
in  her  lap,  mother  sewing  contentedly  in  the  room  be- 
yond, while  Bess,  curled  up  on  a  sofa,  read  Cinderella 
with  all  the  angles  of  her  face  drawn  into  rigid  sympa- 
thy with  that  unfortunate  young  damsel's  woes.  I  re- 
member that  I  looked  fnrtiveJy  up  from  my  drawing, 
with  an  undefined  feeling  in  my  heart  that  she  was  too 
beautiful  and  good  for  this  world.  Her  face  was  turned 
rt\ray,  the  light  fell  in  upon  her  golden  hair  and  d  :nced 
in  sunshiny  ripples  up  and  down  upon  her  white  dress. 


164  CLOVERLY. 

Yes,  Flo  was  unconsciously  a  work  of  art  as  she  sat  there 
with  her  slender  fingers  resting  on  the  keys,  her  long 
dress  sweeping  about  her,  her  hair  catching  the  light  and 
shining  like  gold.  I  seem  to  scent  the  blossoms  now  as 
the  wind  drifted  in  through  the  open  windows,  softly 
bearing  with  it  a  pleasant  nameless  odor  of  flowers,  and 
the  birds  chirped  and  twittered  outside. 

Presently,  while  a  little  thread  of  melody  stole  out 
from  under  her  fingers,  she  turned  her  head,  glancing 
through  the  open  doorway  at  mother  sewing  in  the  broad 
window.  'Barbara,'  she  said  softly,  'does  this  sea  air 
make  you  feel  tired  and  sleepy,  or  does  the  feeling  rest 
with  me  alone  ?  ' 

'  Why,  it  makes  me  feel  strong,  Flo,'  I  answered.  'I 
take  such  long  clear  breaths, — it  wakes  me  up,  I  think.' 

'  I  wonder,'  she  went  on  in  a  lowor  voice,  '  why  I  feel 
so  drowsy,  and  as  if  I  were  in  a  dream  all  the  time.' 

I  put  a  few  bold  strokes  on  my  old  monk's  head  before 
I  replied,  '  It's  time  you  woke  up,  then,  my  dear, — you've 
been  dreaming  your  dream  ever  since  I've  known  you.' 

She  smiled  in  my  face  absently.  '  Have  I,  dear  ?  I 
wish  I  could  wake  up,'  then  turned  again  to  the  piano 
and  let  her  fingers  dally  idly  among  the  keys. 

'Don't  waste  your  time,  Flo,  my  child,' called  out 
mother  cheerily,  lifting  her  head  from  a  long  contempla- 
tion of  one  of  Bob's  socks  minus  a  heel,  which  give  her 
calm  nature  possibly  just  enough  sense  of  irritation  to 
hurry  Flo  a  little.  '  Your  father  is  paying  out  a  good 
deal  for  lessons  just  now, — only  improve  your  time  and 
we  will  both  be  content.' 

Flo's  color  came  and  went,  she  struck  a  few  chords, 
then  left  the  piano  and  went  in  to  mother.  '  I  wish 
you'd  give  Bess  the  lessons,'  she  said  hurriedly,  'the 


THE    CLOUDIXG    OF    THE    SKY.  165 

child  has  a  real  talent  for  music,  and — I  don't  want  to 
take  lessons  any  more — won't  you,  mother  ?  Really,  it 
would  be  best.' 

'  Florilla  Fox  ! '  and.  mother  raised  her  eyes  in  amaze- 
ment. 'You  who  are  so  fond  of  music, — and  you  never 
used  to  mind  the  practice  when  we  were  in  the  city, — • 
why  do  you  care  for  it  here  ?  I  didn't  want  to  scold  you, 
darling,  only  to  rouse  you  a  little,' — then,  as  Flo  said  no- 
thing in  reply,  mother  went  on  :  '  Flo,  dear,  is  anything 
wrong  ?  are  you  sure  you  are  well  ?  ' 

'No,  mother  ;  I'm  not  sure  at  all.' 

'  "What  is  it,  darling  ? '  folding  both  hands  swiftly  over 
her  work  and  eyeing  her  keenly. 

'I don't  know,  mother  dear, — that's  just  it — I'm  tired, 
— sleepy  most  of  the  time.  I  think  it  is  the  sea  ;  but 
Barbara  says  she  don't  feel  so,  and  Meg  is  as  bright  as  a 
lark, — things  tire  me  ;  and  now  this  practice, — I  don't 
want  to  be  vacillating,'  she  went  on,  'but  I'd  like  to  put 
off  the  lessons  through  the  warm  weather,  or  let  Bess 
take  them  in  my  place. ' 

'  Bess  is  too  young,  and  we  haven't  the  money  to  throw 
away,' said  mother  shaking  her  head.  'I'm  glad  you 
told  me,  daughter  ;  of  course  you  need  not  feel  bound  to 
go  on.  But  you  are  sure  you  are  not  ill  ? ' 

'O  no,  mother  ;  just  tired.' 

'It's  weakness,'  she  determined  in  her  brisk  motherly 
way.  '  I'll  order  some  iron  to-morrow,  and  you  must  be 
in  the  open  air  all  the  time  —  time  will  bring  things 
around  right.  Shut  up  the  piano  now,  dearie,  and  you 
and  Barbara  go  out  to  the  grove,  or  on  the  cliffs.  Take 
your  umbrellas — it's  very  hot  walking  through  the  sand 
--and  stay  out  all  the  morning,  if  you  like.' 

'Let's  take  our  work,'  I  suggested,  putting  aside  mj 


166  CLOVERLT. 

crayons  ;  '  and,  mother,  give  me  the  stocking  basket,  and 
you  take  a  respite,  just  for  a  surprise.'  - 

'  No,  no,  Bab ;  I  understand  poor  Bobbie's  heels  bet- 
ter than  any  one.  What  a  boy  he  is  to  go  through  stock- 
ings, to  be  sure.' 

'  Never  mind  ;  I  can  understand  them  too.  Bob  and  1 
are  sympathetic  on  that  point.  He  is  a  perfect — Achil- 
les, I  was  going  to  say — wasn't  it  Achilles  who  was  vul- 
nerable in  his  heel  ?  However,  it  wouldn't  be  safe  for  me 
to  affirm.  It  might  turn  out  to  be  somebody  else.  Con- 
sider that  allusion  unmade,  Mrs.  Fox,' as  I  tucked  the 
basket  under  my  arm. 

Flo  smiled  faintly,  submitted  to  a  searching  look  from 
mother,  as  she  put- on  her  broad  hat  and  turned  to  go. 

'  Take  a  book,  Florilla  Fox,'  I  begged.  '  Let's  have  a 
feast  of  reason  and  a  flow  of  soul,  if  I  am  to  study  do- 
mestic economy,'  so  she  slipped  a  small  volume  in  her 
pocket  and  took  her  umbrella  ia  her  thin  white  hand. 
Perhaps  the  reason  that  I  noticed  it  to-day  was  that  it 
looked  so  very  white  and  slender  as  it  supported  the 
black  handle  of  her  umbrella,  and  for  the  first  time  I  felt 
a  sort  of  chilly  wonder  if  Flo  were  really  going  to  be 
sick.  Other  people  had  sickness,  yes,  sickness  and  death 
in  their  families — it  couldn't  be  possible  that  we  were 
always  going  on  in  this  steady  fashion,  the  circle  unbrok- 
en year  after  year.  I  wondered  if  mother  had  thought 
of  it,  and  involuntarily  I  turned  and  looked  back. 
She  was  standing  in  the  window  just  where  we  had  left 
her,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  watching  us,  of 
course.  What  a  mother  she  was  !  Then  she  waved  lu  r 
handkerchief  and  turned  away,  aud  we  walked  on  to  our 
favorite  resting  place.  I  seated  myself  on  the  warm 
grass  and  took  out  my  basket  of  stockings  ;  Flo  sat  down 


THE    CLOUDIXG   OF    THE    SKY.  167 

at  the  foot  of  a  pine  tree  ;  we  did  not  seem  inclined  to 
talk  at  all — it  was  enough  to  look,  that  day.  There  was  a 
blue,  hazy  mist,  that  made  a  perpetual  mystery  of  the 
great  beyond,  out  of  which  now  and  then  a  white  sail 
flitted  like  a  beckoning  hand,  and  then  shrouded  itself 
again  in  the  mystery,  disappearing  entirely,  dropping 
down  as  it  were  into  an  under  world.  Bslow  us  a  sweep 
of  clear  water  rolled  over  the  black  rocks,  toppling  back  • 
ward  in  long  lines  of  seething  foam,  before  it  swept  up 
the  white  sand  and  died  away  in  a  dreary  moan.  The 
sweet  winds  blew  from  far  over  the  sea,  and  tossed  Flo's 
hair  about  her  face  ;  she  put  it  back,  leaning  her  head 
upon  her  hand  and  looking  out  still,  as  if  she  were  try- 
ing to  follow  the  beckoning  hand.  I  worked  diligently 
upon  my  stockings,  looking  up  furtively  now  and  again, 
and  wondering  why  she  was  so  absorbed.  There  was  no 
sound  but  the  murmur  of  the  waves  fretting  the  sands 
below  and  the  nutter  of  the  leaves,  as  sometimes  Flo 
roused  herself  and  turn-  d  page  after  page.  But  she  did 
not  read,  and  finally,  with  a  long  sigh,  she  threw  down 
her  book  and  walked  into  the  wood,  coming  back  with 
her  lap  full  of  daisies  and  small  white  flowers,  which  she 
began  quietly  to  make  up  into  a  wreath  for  my  hat. 

'Flo,  what  makes  you  so  quiet  to  day  ? '  I  asked  finally, 
in  a  desperate  attempt  to  gain  her  confidence.  The  tears 
sprang  into  my  eyes  when  I  asked  her,  but  I  steadily  ig- 
nored tbe  feeling,  and  pressed  my  question  still  further. 
1  You  are  not  yourself  lately.  Yoii  are  absorbed  in  some 
new  thought.  You  don't  take  Meg  and  me,  or  even  your 
own  mother  in  your  confidence  as  you  used.  It  was  only 
such  a  little  while  ago,'  I  said  with  a  half-way  feeling  of 
bitterness  in  my  heart  against  Neal  Huntington,  as  if  he 
were  the  sole  cause  of  our  undefined  anxieties,  '  that  you 


168  CLOVEULY. 

never  had  a  secret  from  us,  even  iu  thought — it  is  only 
since  we  came  to  the  country  that  you  are  so  changed. ' 

I  paused  again,  but  she  answered  nothing,  only  folded 
one  hand  softly  over  the  other,  in  a  distressed  kind  of 
way,  that  had  lately  become  a  sort  of  habit  with  her. 

'I  have  guessed  what  it  is,'  my  cheeks  flushing  as  I 
went  on  ;  '  but  you  ought  to  be  the  one  to  speak  of  it  first, 
and  not  I — and  mother  ought  to  know.  Mr.  Hunting- 
ton  as  good  as  told  me,'  I  blurted  out,  '  that  day  we  met 
in  the  cave  when  it  rained. ' 

'  Mr.  Huntington — told — you  ? '  Flo  echoed  after  me, 
looking  up  in  a  dazed  kind  of  way.  'Barbara,  dear, 
what  could  he  possibly  have  to  say  about  me  ?  ' 

'A  very  great  deal,'  I  said,  dashing  into  the  subject  in 
medias  res.  '  You  know  he  adores  you,  Ho — he  as  good  as 
claimed  me  for  a  sister  that  day  cf  the  rain ;  and  I  am 
sure  I  love  him  as  one  already,  although  we  are  never  so 
happy  as  when  we  are  quarrelling.  You  needn't  think  I 
am  not  delighted,  for  I  am — it  is  all  right  that  he  should 
love  you  ;  indeed,  I  do  not  see  how  he  can  help  himself,' 
with  a  little  burst  of  effusion.  '  If  I  were  a  man  I  would 
have  done  the  same  thing  ages  ago  ;  but  I  do  think  it  is 
a  little  underhanded  that  you  haven't  given  us  an  inkling 
of  the  truth,  too.' 

While  I  had  been  talking  she  had  turned  away,  mak- 
ing lines  in  the  earth  with  the  point  of  her  umbrella — 
smooth,  straight  lines,  one  after  the  other,  with  the 
greatest  regularity  and  precision,  as  if  she  were  wholly 
absorbed  in  it.  It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  had 
ever  attempted  to  speak  upon  such  a  subject  to  Flo,  and 
it  was  strange  to  notice  the  painful  shadow  that  seemed 
to  come  between  us,  and  overcast  her  face.  The  tears 
filled  her  eyes,  but  she  only  said, 


THE    CLOUDING    OF   THE    SK.Y.  169 

'  O  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  all,  Barbara.' 

'  Well,'  I  cried,  with  a  half  laugh,  'don't  fidget,  but  sit 
still  and  tell  me  about  it — not  that  we  don't  know — 
why,  Meg  and  I  made  up  a  fairy  tale  two  months  ago, 
and  it  is  all  turning  out  just  as  we  expected.  It  would 
be  a  comfort  though  to  hear  it  from  your  own  lips.' 

But  her  voice  was  scarcely  more  than  a  whisper  when 
she  began,  pulling  the  white  petals  of  the  daisies  slowly, 
one  by  one,  then  tossing  them  away  with  a  weary  sigh, 
as  if  she  cast  them  aside  with  all  her  hopes  and  fears. 
'  When  they  come  again,  Barbara,  I  won't  be  here.  It 
isn't  any  earthly  love,  darling,  that  has  been  drawing,  my 
thoughts  away  from  you  all — it  is  only  that  I  have  been 
trying  to  make  myself  ready  to  go  away — to  go  away  and 
be  with  Christ — which  is  far  better — '  she  added  softly. 
'  You  have  seen  it.  You  must  have  seen  it,  although  I 
haven't  dared  say  the  words,'  she  faltered,  while  I  stared 
at  her  helplessly,  waiting  to  hear  more,  and  yet  feeling  in 
the  awful  suddenness  of  the  shock  a  conviction  that  some- 
how I  had  known  how  it  would  be  all  along — it  must 
have  been,  as  she  said,  a  fixed  fact  in  my  mind,  a  sort  of 
undercurrent  in  all  my  plans  of  the  future,  a  conscious- 
ness that  we  are  apt  to  call  a  presentiment,  when  in 
fact  it  is  a  whisper  direct  from  God  bidding  us  be 
ready. 

'O  Flo  !  you  shall  not  think  of  such  things,'  drawing 
a  long  breath;  '  it  is  not  so.  You  are  all  wrong,  Flo — who 
put  such  ideas  in  your  head  ?  Have  you  asked  advice  of 
any  one  ? ' 

'I  didn't  need  any  one  to  tell  me,'  she  said,  with  signs 
of  an  inward  struggle  ;  'I  found  it  out  myself.' 

'Ah,  I  knew  it  was  not  so — you  are  only  nervous,'  I 
went  on,  with  that  instinctive  denial  of  coming  death, 


170  CLOVERLY. 

which,  is  always  our  first  thought.  '  I  will  tell  fa  ther  and 
mother,  and  you  must  have  a  doctor.' 

'  I  did  have  one,  dear — that  is  I  went  one  day  to  a  strange 
doctor  when  I  was  in  the  city.  He  told  me  nothing, 
however,  that  I  did  not  know  before.  I  wanted  to  tell 
you.  I  have  thought  it  over  so  much  when  I  was  alone, 
and  wondered  what  I  had  better  do  about  telling  mother 
— because — because  it  can't  be  helped,  you  know  ;  it  is 
my  heart,  the  doctor  said — ' 

'  You  mean  that  you  are  going  to  die,  Flo  ! '  I  cried, 
forcing  the  words  out  in  desperate  agony,  '  thut  the  doc- 
tors have  told  you  so.  O  my  darling,  it  must  not  be — 
it  cannot  be  !  And  what  a  happy  life  we  were  planning 
for  you,  only  a  few  days  ago — and  Neal  Huntington.  You 
must  know,  Flo,  how  he  loves  you.' 

'  God  seldom  gives  us  the  things  that  in  our  blindness 
we  are  apt  to  call  blessings,'  she  said  softly.  '  I  love  him, 
and  I  love  you  all — perhaps  even  I  have  longed  some- 
times to  stay.  I  am  sorry  for  you  always,  and  some- 
times I  am  sorry  for  myself  too.  I  used  to  plan  such 
plans,  and  dream  such  dreams,  dear.  You  know  you  al- 
ways called  me  an  old  castle-builder, — call  me  so  still, 
darling,  only  the  dream  is  coming  true  this  time.  Life 
has  been  very  sweet  to  me,'  she  went  on  in  a  low  wrapt 
voice,  with  eyes  still  looking  out  upon  the  mystery  of  sea 
and  sky,  and  beckoning  hand,  '  but  it  was  very  foolish  to 
plan  out  a  world  for  myself  ;  and  we  shall  all  be  together 
again  in  a  little  while. ' 

Flo  couldn't  get  any  further,  she  had  to  think  the  rest 
out,  and  I  could  not  say  one  word.  Her  thoughts  only 
touched  me  as  they  went  by, — just  as  the  Raiment  touch- 
ed the  poor  woman  and  blessed  her  with  its  healing, — 
BO  Flo's  words,  like  all  the  acts  of  her  gentle  life,  touch 


THE   CLOUDING    OF    THE   SKY.  171 

me  as  they  pass.  Even  in  my  agony,  I  wondered  if  any 
of  the  healing  and  the  blessedness  of  her  pure  example 
could  reach  me. 

'  Sometimes  I  tremble  at  the  thought,'  she  went  on,  as 
I  still  sat  silent,  '  but  I  do  not  think  it  is  with  fear.  I 
ought  not  to  be  afraid  when  the  promise  is  so  sure.  And 
if  the  river  is  dark  and  cold,  other  feet  than  mine  have 
stepped  into  it  before.  What  a  strange,  strange  company, 
have  crossed — some  doubting — others  rejoicing — some — 
can  it  be— in  fear  ?  ' 

I  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words  seemed  to  choke  me, 
and  Flo  leaned  over  me  stroking  my  hair.  '  Try  to  be 
thankful,  Barbara.  There  will  be  five  left  for  mother — I 
think  you  can  make  her  content,  for  I  shall  have  been 
given  the  greatest  blessing  of  you  all. ' 

'And  you  dare  to  think  that  God  is  good  to  rend  us 
apart  and  break  our  hearts  ?  O  Flo  !  Flo  !  you  shall  not 
die,  my  darling, — you  shall  live  and  be  happy,'  I  cried  in 
utter  abandonment  of  grief,  but  Flo  put  up  her  hand  and 
stopped  me  with  a  smile. 

'  I  do  not  ask  for  length  of  days  now,'  she  said.  ' I  am 
very  happy  in  thinking  that  my  life  will  be  short, — at  the 
best  it  is  a  dream,  you  know, — a  mere  dream, — and  some 
day  I  want  you  to  try  and  tell  Neal  how  willing  I  am  to 
have  it  ordered  thus  for  me.  You  can  do  it  now,  Bar- 
bara, since  he  has  spoken  to  you  of  me,  for  he  will  not 
listen  to  a  word  of  mine.  I  have  tried  so  many  times, 
dear,  but  I  had  not  the  courage  that  I  have  with  you  to- 
day. And  it  would  make  him  so  miserable,  if  I  were  to 
tell  him  all.  You  see  I  shall  have  to  leave  it  for  you.  I  * 
had  a  hope  once  as  fair  as  any  that  ever  gladdened  mor- 
tal woman.  I  know  Neal  loves  me,  though  we  have  never 
told  ettch  other  in  words — it  did  not  seem  a  thing  that 


172  CLOVEKLY. 

was  needed — we  understood  each  other  -  though  be  is 
Very  unhappy  now — and  I  think — I  think — it  is  because 
he  knows  the  truth.  God  has  been  very  good  in  giving 
us  so  many  happy  years  together,  and  now  this  crowning 
love  of  all — so  good  that  sometimes  I  have  almost  forgot- 
ten that  it  is  for  a  brief  space,  a  few  hours  of  time,  and 
that  here  we  can  have  no  abiding  city  or  continuing 
place.  And  now,  dear,  it  is  getting  cooler,  and  we  can  go 
home.  We  have  had  our  talk,  and  since  I  have  told  you, 
we  can  speak  of  it  often  and  not  be  afraid. ' 

'  But  it  cannot  be,'  I  said,  '  it  cannot  be  true.  I  shall 
tell  mother,  and  you  must  have  a  doctor, — you  will  do 
that,  Flo  ? ' 

'  I  will  do  anything  she  wants  me  to  do,'  she  answered; 
'  and  you  can  tell  her — I  do  not  want  to — dear  mother. 
And  yet  she  will  be  better  able  to  bear  it  than  any  of  you, 
for  it  was  she  who  taught  me,  when  I  was  a  little  child, 
that  we  were  only  pilgrims  journeying  on  to  a  better 
country.  Yes,  mother  will  know — you  will  not  have  to 
comfort  her.  And  do  not  cry,  Barbara  dear,'  she  said 
tossing  the  flowers  from  her  lap.  She  rose,  standing  for 
an  instant  as  she  always  stood  in  church,  with  her  head 
bowed,  as  if  afar  off  she  had  heard  some  invisible  Gloria  ; 
then  she  stretched  out  her  arms  as  if  she  were  clasping 
some  tangible  help  close  to  her  heart.  '  Think  how  it 
will  really  be  with  me  hereafter ! '  she  said  softly. 
'  Think  of  that,  dear,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  make  you,  as 
it  does  me,  quite  happy.' 

I  could  not  answer.  I  thought  I  would  give  any- 
thing to  be  alone,  away  from  Flo's  questioning  eyes.  I 
wanted  to  think  it  all  over.  How  hard  it  was  to  listen  to 
her  and  say  nothing,  as  she  wandered  off  into  those  re- 
ligious speculations,  founded  upon  a  strong  faith,  that 


THE   CLOUDIXG    OF    THE    SKY.  173 

had  always  filled  her  raind  and  proved  such  a  stay  and 
comfort  to  her.  We  walked  on,  she  talking  and  I  listen- 
ing, following  the  windings  of  the  path  down  the  steep 
cliff,  with  our  arms  about  each  other,  and  our  hearts  very 
full.  I  had  no  eyes  for  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  now, 
no  ears  for  the  soft  murmur  of  the  waves;  I  only  thought, 
with  an  agony  of  fear,  what  if  Flo's  wor Js  should  really 
be  true. 

There  was  company  in  the  parlor  with  mother  when 
we  reached  home,  and  Meg  was  away  somewhere  with 
Bella  Desmond,  so  that  it  was  not  until  after  tea  I  had  a 
chance  to  get  her  alone  by  myself. 

'Do  come  out  with  me  a  minute,  Meg,'  I  whispered, 
'  I  have  something  to  tell  you.  Come  outside  with  me 
on  the  porch,  or  up  in  our  room. ' 

'It  must  be  something  important,'  said  Meg  with  a 
laugh  on  her  lips.  '  You  look  as  grave  as  a  judge  about 
it.  No,  I'll  not  come  up-stairs — it's  too  hot.  I'll  be  out- 
side presently. ' 

So  I  went  on  the  porch,  and  sat  down  under  the  vines 
alone  by  myself.  I  could  hear  them  all  talking  and 
laughing  outside,  just  as  carelessly  and  happily  as  if  no 
dark  shadow  lay  over  the  pleasant  home  ;  even  Flo, — 
how  could  she  do  it  ?  yet  her  voice  was  just  as  sweet  and 
unmoved  as  if  this  trial  were  not  before  her.  What  a 
wonderful  religion  Flo's  was,  and  how  hard  for  me  to  un- 
derstand. 

'  What  are  you  dreaming  about  now,  Barbara  ? ' 

I  looked  up  and  saw  Neal  Huntington  coming  up  the 
walk.  I  had  been  so  absorbed  in  my  anxious  thoughts 
that  I  had  not  heard  his  footfall.  '  O  you  are  the  very 
one  I  want  to  see,'  I  cried ;  '  come  up  here  and  sit  down 
on  the  steps  by  me.  I  want  to  see  you,  and  I  don't  want 


174  CLOVERLY. 

to  see  you.  I  have  been  thinking  all  the  afternoon  that 
I  must  tell  you  something,  and  yet  I  do  not  dare.' 

'Don't  tell  me  it  is  about  Flo,'  he  said  quickly,  putting 
his  hand  out  on  mine.  '  O  Barbara  !  I  have  been  so  hap- 
py and  so  miserable,  alternately,  ever  since  that  rainy 
day  when  we  had  our  talk.  I  can  hardly  define  it  to  my- 
self, and  yet  I  will  not  let  her  speak  and  tell  me  what  it  is. ' 

'But  you  will  have  to  know  one  of  these  days,'  I  said, 
dropping  my  face  in  my  hands  and  crying  for  the  first 
time.  'Flo  has  been  telling  me  all  about  it.  O  my 
dear,  she  loves  you,  and  so  do  we  all.  ,1  have  never  meant 
half  of  the  foolish  chaffing  I  have  indulged  in.  I  love 
you  like  a  brother  already.  But  Flo  is  not  well — she 
thinks  she  is  going  to  die — she  told  me  so  herself  this 
morning,  and  I  have  been  so  wretched  all  day.  Just 
listen  !  hear  them  talking — Flo  too,  just  as  sweetly  and 
calmly  as  if  she  had  not  said  those  dreadful  words  to-day. 
O  Neal,  my  heart  is  breaking  when  I  think  perhaps  it 
may  be  true.' 

'  Hush  ! '  he  said  passionately,  '  it  is  not  true.  It  shall 
not  be  true  if  devotion  and  care  can  save  her.  I  have 
come  up  to-night  to  talk  with  your  father  about  it.  She 
must  have  advice — the  very  best.  And  yet,  O  Barbara,  I 
have  wondered  a  great  deal  why  she  grew  more  saintly 
and  holy  day  by  day — why,  when  I  loved  her  the  most, 
the  gulf  seemed  widening  that  kept  us  apart. ' 

'  I  thought  I  heard  voices,  and  I  fancied  you  and  Bar- 
bara were  here,'  said  Flo,  stepping  out  of  the  long  window 
on  the  porch,  and  looking  uncertainly  around  ;  then  see- 
ing us  both  on  the  step,  and  Neal's  face  hidden  in  his 
hands,  she  came  up  to  us  quickly,  dropping  down  on  her 
knees  between  us,  and  putting  one  hand  out  upon  hia 
shoulder,  'Are  you  two  talking  about  me  ?  ' 


THE    CLOUDING    OF    THE    SKY.  175 

'  O  my  darling  ! '  saicl  Neal,  brokenly,  taking  up  the 
slender  white  liand  and  putting  it  to  his  lips. 

She  bent  her  pretty  head  toward  him,  speaking  tender- 
ly and  softly  as  to  a  child.  '  I  have  been  telling  Barbara 
to-day  what  I  have  tried  to  tell  you  so  many  times.  The 
doctors  have  told  me  now,  Neal.  I  went  to  see  a  strange 
doctor,  as  I  told  you  I  should,  and  I  dare  not  deceive  you 
or  myself.  It  would  be  sweet  to  stay  ;  but  it  will  not 
be  like  parting  forever — we  shall  meet  in  such  a  little 
while. ' 

'  You  mean  that  we  shall  meet  in  heaven,'  he  said  slow- 
ly in  a  dazed,  wondering  way  ;  '  but  it  is  heaven  to  me 
now,  when  you  are  here.  I  do  not  want  that  other  heav- 
en where  you  can  be  nothing  to  me  more  than  a  shadowy 
spirit.' 

'  Hush  ! '  she  whispered.  '  It  breaks  my  heart  to  hear 
you  talk  thus.  I  do  love  you,  but  there  is  a  love  that  is 
better  than  yours,  Neal,  and  a  home  that  is  surer  and 
safer  than  this.  I  lie  awake  at  night  often,  and  wonder 
that  God  has  been  so  good.  I  never  thought  to  have  a 
life  so  free  of  sorrow  and  pain — to  have  my  dear  ones  all 
around  me.  I  never  dreamed  of  this  crowning  seal  to 
my  happiness,  the  certainty  of  your  love.  And  it  will 
not  die,  as  I  shall  die — it  will  live  and  go  on  forever  and 
ever.  "We  have  an  eternity  before  us,  and  the  world 
where  we  shall  spend  it  wilt  be  far  more  perfect  and 
beautiful  than  this. ' 

I  got  up  hastily,  choking  back  my  tears,  and  went  into 
the  parlor,  where  Meg  was  standing  by  the  open  window, 
looking  out  at  the  stars  and  humming  a  little  tune,  lost  ia 
thought,  and  quite  unconscious  of  the  misery  that  we  had 
been  enduring.  She  turned  around  when  she  saw  me. 

'  O  here  you  are.     I  was  just  coming  in  search  of  you. 


176  CLOVEELY. 

But  it's  so  lovely — just  listen,  can't  you  hear  the  waves  ? 
It's  the  sweetest  sound  I  ever  heard  at  this  distance.' 

'O  Meg,' I  exclaimed,  'I've  so  wanted  to  see  you  all 
day.' 

'Yes,  so  you  did  ;  I  quite  forgot  about  it.  Well,  what 
is  your  wonderful  secret  ?  Out  with  it — you  never  kept 
anything  a  whole  day  to  yourself  before.  It  must  be 
something  a  little  beyond  the  ordinary  run  of  your  mys- 
teries. ' 

'  Don't  jest,'  I  said,  inexpressibly  shocked  at  her  levity. 
'  It  seems  to  me  impossible  that  you  cannot  have  seen  it 
all  along.  You  are  usually  so  quick,  and  now  you  are 
blind.' 

'  Is  it  that  trumpery  old  belief  of  yours  about  Flo  and 
Neal  Huntington  ?  Why,  any  one  with  half  an  eye  could 
see  how  that  was  going  to  end.' 

'  O  Meg,'  I  cried,  '  can't  you  see  that  Flo  is  not  long  for 
this  world  ?  She  is  dying  !  If  ever  death  was  written 
on  any  face,  it  is  on  our  Flo's.  It  is  horrible  to  me  that 
no  one  sees  it,  and  yet  I  sometimes  believe  you  all  think 
it  as  much  as  I,  only  you  don't  dare  acknowledge  it,  even 
in  thought.' 

'  Flo  dying  '  our  Flo  ?  '  She  uttered  the  words  as  if 
she  were  half  stunned  by  the  suddenness  of  the  shock, 
then  turned  away  from  me  and  burst  into  a  passion  of 
tears.  '  Who  told  you  ?  '  she  said.  '  Some  one  must 
have  spoken  of  it  to  you,  and  put  the  thought  in  your 
head.  It  is  very  wrong  and  foolish.  I  don't  know  why  I 
should  cry  just  for  your  saying  it-— the  heat  of  the  Sum- 
mer has  prostrated  her.' 

'  Flo  told  me  herself,'  I  said  vehemently.  '  She  knows 
she  cannot  live  long.  She  has  been  to  see  a  doctor,  and 
he  says  it  is  trouble  with  her  heart.  I  think  she  has 


THE    CLOUDING    OF    THE   SKY.  177 

been  making  up  her  mind  to  it  all  along,  and  she  has  not 
•wanted  any  of  us  to  know.' 

'And  how  did  she  come  to  tell  you,  then  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  know.  It  seemed  to  be  as  unexpected  to  hei- 
as  to  me.  Perhaps  she  would  not  have  saiil  a  word  but, 
for  my  telling  her  something  that  Mr.  Huntingtoa  said 
to  me  the  day  that  it  rained  and  we  were  in  the  cave  to- 
gether.' 

'And  why  don't  you  tell  mother  ?  ' 

'  O  Meg — I  must,  I  suppose.  Flo  wanted  me  to — but  I 
do  so  dread  it.  I  thought  I  would  ask  you  what  it  was 
best  to  do. ' 

'  Do  ? '  said  the  energetic  Meg.  '  Why  we  will  consult 
a  physician  right  away.  Mother  shall  know,  and  it  must 
be  looked  into  at  once.  I  dare  say  Flo  isn't  well,  and  is 
nervous  and  low-spirited.  I  shall  tell  mother  this  very 
minute.' 

And  Meg  dashed  off  up  stairs,  leaving  me  in  a  more 
hopeful  frame  of  mind  than  I  had  been  in  any  time  dur- 
ing tho  day. 


CHAPTER  XTV. 

OUT  OF  TONE. 

Life  wasn't  quite  the  same  tiling  after  all  this. 

A  miserable  unrest  possessed  me  after  Flo  had  unbur- 
dened her  heart  and  told  me  her  fears.  It  quickened 
my  pulses  with  a  nameless  thrill  when  I  thought  about 
it,  my  sleep  was  broken  by  troubled  dreams,  and  my 
days  made  anxious  by  the  perpetual  fears  that  haunted 
me.  I  said  to  myself  she  was  looking  better  ;  her  old 
lassitude  and  weariness  seemed  at  times  almost  gone,  but 
yet,  while  the  sweet  blue  eyes  were  looking  at  us  without 
a  taint  of  fear,  I  knew,  with  a  pang  unspeakable,  that 
she  was  fading  slowly  away  before  cur  very  eyes  ;  thai  a 
dark,  bitter  hour  was  coming,  and  yet  we  had  to  smile 
and  be  cheerful,  lest  by  any  betrayal  of  grief  we  should 
shorten  the  brief  space  in  which  we  might  be  together. 

Meg  had  fully  aroused  both  father  and  mother.  The 
doctor  was  sent  for  the  very  next  morning  after  mother 
had  been  told,  and  he  entered  into  an  examination  of 
her  case  at  once.  'A  good,  well-meaning  man,'  Neal 
said,  'but  with  very  limited  ideas.  A  city  doctor — not 
one  of  them,  but  several — must  be  consulted,'  and  so  he 
brought  down  two  or  three  distinguished  men  from  the 
city,  and  it  was  found  that  Flo  had  been  correct.  There 
was  some  organic  difficulty  about  the  heart.  There  were 
learned  terms  enough  used  to  make  it  seem  quite  a  com- 
plicated and  altogether  incomprehensible  disease,  but  we 
all  understood  it  well  enough,  and  it  meant  simply  this  : 
with  care  and  avoidance  of  excitement,  she  could  live  for 
a  long  time — even  years  it  might  be;  such  difficulties  had 


OUT    OF    TC7NE.  179 

been  overcome,  out-grown  entirely ;  but  on  the  other 
hand,  the  delicate  little  machinery  that  kept  life  going, 
might  at  any  moment  stop.  After  all  their  explanations, 
unintelligible  technicalities,  and  high  sounding  Latin 
phrases  thrown  in,  it  amounted  to  the  same  thing  :  there 
•was  an  insidious  something  at  work,  sapping  and  mining 
as  it  were,  the  very  mainspring  of  life.  The  doctors 
might  as  well  have  staid  away.  It  only  utterly  befogged 
us,  made  Flo  more  positive  in  her  belief,  and  Neal  Hunt- 
ington  more  wretched  than-  he  dared  confess,  though  ho 
pretended  to  the  most  overflowing  spirits  and  inordinate 
gaiety.  Of  course  we  all  knew  it  was  to  hide  the  deeper 
feeling  beneath,  and  perhaps  the  only  thing  that  really 
was  clear  in  the  whole  matter,  was  his  love  for  Flo  and 
her  unaccountable  affection  for  him. 

'  The  dearest  boy  in  the  world,' mother  said  approv- 
ingly, '  but  I  was  never  more  completely  surprised  in  my 
life.  I  always  thought  Flo  would  fancy  a  clergyman. 
Now  here  was  Mr.  Aymar  coming  to  the  house  all  the 
time,  and  just  the  very  person  one  would  think  to  suit 
such  a  temperament  as  Flo's,  and  it  seems  sha  prefers 
this  rattle-brained  boy.' 

'  But  mother,'  I  said,  fighting  Neal's  battles  when  he 
was  not  by  to  hear,  '  he  is  not  a  rattle-brained  boy  any 
longer — he  is  so  good  and  earnest  and  true  ;  I  am  sure 
she  can  make  him  anything  she  chooses  him  to  be  ;  and 
Mr.  Ay  mar  isn't  worthy  of  such  a  woman  as  Flo.' 

'Mr.  Aymar  !'  and  mother  lifted  her  hands  in  astonish- 
ment, '  that  shows,  my  dear  Barbara,  you  know  nothing 
about  your  pastor.  He  is  one  among  ten  thousand ;  a 
man  that  I  should  be  proud  to  say — ' 

'  O  mother,'  I  interrupted  impatiently,  '  that's  enough. 
Don't  think  me  impertinent,  but  yoa  might  at  least  spare 


160  CLOVERLY. 

me.  I  am  sick  unto  death  of  hearing  his  praises  and  his 
name,'  and  I  put  my  fingers  in  my  ears  that  I  might  not 
be  utterly  overwhelmed. 

As  for  Flo  she  bore  the  decision  of  the  physicians  with 
the  quiet  air  of  one  who  had  already  made  up  her  mind, 
and  it  mattered  very  little  what  any  one  said  about  it. 
She  did  not  give  up  her  duties  and  settle  down  at  home 
because  she  had  been  cautioned  against  exertion  and  ex- 
citement, although  she  was  content  to  continue  her  old 
pursuits  with  more  moderation  ;  besides  she  had  Neal  to 
help  her.  He  was  always  at  church  now,  taking  part  in 
her  little  charities,  carrying  her  basket,  her  books,  or 
roll  of  work,  talking  to  her  favorite  old  women,  and  mak- 
ing friends  of  the  men,  though  indeed  the  merry  light- 
hearted  fellow  had  made  strong  friends  among  them  when 
he  first  came,  and  his  engagement  with  the  beautiful 
young  lady,  who  was  already  regarded  as  something  be- 
yond an  ordinary  mortal,  only  threw  an  additional  charm 
around  him.  He  had,  beside  this,  a  way  of  dealing  in 
the  most  wonderful  surprises  for  the  bare-footed  chil- 
dren and  garrulous  grandfathers  who  swarmed  along  the 
shore.  I  don't  think  his  gifts  were  always  as  judicious  as 
they  might  have  been,  his  staple  commodities  consisting 
mainly  of  plugs  of  tobacco  and  sticks  of  candy,  together 
with  a  fair  sprinkling  of  half -pence  and  marbles.  He 
carried  them  about  loose  in  his  capacious  pockets,  like  a 
great  overgrown  boy — as  I  told  him;  but  some  allowance 
must  be  made  for  a  young  fellow  desperately  in  love.  It 
is  a  mild  form  of  insanity,  I  suppose,  and  one  that  don't 
always  take  the  form  of  generosity;  so  we  only  treated 
ourselves  to  a  furtive  smile  now  and  again. 

Flo  seemed  very  happy,  and  as  the  long  beautiful  Sum- 
mer waned,  and  she  grew  no  worse,  we  began  to  think  it 


OUT   OF   TUNE.  181 

was  as  Neal  persistently  argued — time  and  care  would 
save  her  yet.  Yes,  those  were  happy  days,  even  with  the 
one  dark  shadow  in  the  background,  for  we  resolutely 
made  a  background  of  it.  It  is  a  good  way  to  dispose  of 
an  anxiety,  put  it  behind  you.  It  don't  help  matters 
to  drag  up  all  the  worries  of  life  and  make  sorrows  of 
them  before  the  appointed  time,  and  if  we  wait — wait  pa- 
tiently for  God's  time — He  may  one  day  touch  those  sor- 
rows with  His  recreating  finger,  just  as  He  once  touched 
the  chaos  and  darkness  of  the  unformed  world  with  the 
words  'Let  there  be  light.'  Some  way  it  was  always 
light  with  Flo,  as  if  perhaps  she  heard  before  we  did; 
and  what  to  us  was  the  merest  whisper,  to  her  was  the 
spoken  word.  Yes,  Flo  was  happy,  but  she  was  chang- 
ed. There  was  the  same  lovely  flush  on  her  cheeks,  it  is 
true,  but  it  came  and  went — it  did  not  stay.  If  she  were 
excited  or  busy  her  cheeks  were  crimson  ;  but  in  the 
morning  she  was  very  pale,  and  after  a  long  ride  or  walk 
she  seemed  tired,  breathed  quickly  with  a  panting,  fright- 
ened breath,  and  often  I  saw  her  involuntarily  put  her 
hand  over  her  heart.  But  her  eyes  shone  as  steadily 
and  sweetly  as  ever,  and  a  something  purer,  holier,  and 
far  away,  seemed  to  pervade  her.  "We  had  jestingly  called 
her  our  saint — now  we  trembled  to  but  think  it,  for  it  did 
not  seem  as  if  a  saint  could  be  very  different  in  look,  in 
manner  or  holy  speech  than  our  Flo. 

We  staid  much  at  home  and  were  very  quiet  about 
this  time.  It  was  getting  cooler,  and  I  could  retreat  to 
my  garret  and  indulge  in  my  art  frenzies  again,  had  I 
chosen,  but  the  desire  even  had  failed  me.  I  was  dis- 
gusted with  everything.  I  had  no  heart  to  revive  my 
old  pleasures  or  to  encounter  any  of  our  young  friends. 
I  generally  contrived  to  be  out  of  the  way  when  they  call- 


182  CLOVERLT. 

ed,  though  we  did  not  EO  easily  rid  ourselves  of  Mr. 
Aymar  as  a  guest.  He  came  just  as  regularly  after  Flo's 
engagement  was  made  known  as  before,  kept  up  his 
quiet  little  way  of  referring  to  her  in  parish  matters,  and 
altogether  set  our  foregone  conclusions  aside.  He  was 
just  a  friend  and  pastor — he  had  never  intended  to  be 
anything  more.  I  tried  to  avoid  him  when  he  came,  but  I 
was  not  always  able  to  do  so.  Sometimes  I  would  pre- 
tend that  I  had  taken  out  my  neglected  canvas  and  was 
working  diligently,  much  too  diligently  to  be  disturbed 
by  a  morning  visitor ;  or  I  had  a  headache,  or  a  new 
book  to  finish,  or  I  was  just  going  out  for  a  walk — not  to 
the  cliff,  I  avoided  that  spot  now—  I  should  always  be 
recalling  the  last  time  that  I  was  there,  I  knew,  when 
Flo  had  nearly  broken  my  heart  with  her  sad  forebod- 
ings. I  did  not  go  near  Matty  Price  or  any  of  her  unin- 
teresting tribe,  but  sometimes  Meg  and  I  would  take  a 
quiet  drive  along  the  solitary  country  roads,  and  unbur- 
den our  full  hearts  to  each  other,  when  mother  and  Flo 
were  not  by  to  see  and  hear. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  we  were  all  playing  a  part,  and 
the  only  one  who  was  natural  and  at  ease  was  Mr.  Ay- 
mar.  After  a  time,  for  some  reason  or  otber,  he  sudden- 
ly gave  up  his  visits  to  us  through  the  day,  and  happened 
in  about  tea  time,  or  in  the  evening,  when  the  family 
were  all  together,  and  the  lamps  lighted  and  the  parlor 
windows  were  thrown  open  with  the  sweet,  cool  night 
air  drifting  in.  He  said  it  seemed  homelike  and  natural 
to  find  us  all  here,  and  under  those  circumstances  it  was 
almost  impossible  for  me  to  get  away.  I  often  asked  my- 
self why  I  should  want  to,  and  I  never  satisfactorily  an- 
swered the  question.  It  only  made  me  conspicuous  to 
frame  an  excuse  to  leave  the  room,  and  so  after  a  little 


OUT    OF   TUNE.  183 

I  began  to  bear  Ids  quiet  lectures,  and  bis  persuasive 
way  of  dropping  bits  of  advice,  with  a  little  better  grace 
than  I  had  taken  them  formerly,  though  a  spirit  of  per- 
versity and  wilfulness  often  led  ine  to  resist  these  influ- 
ences and  rebuff  him  to  my  heart's  content. 

Flo  sometimes  gravely  wondered  why  I  disliked  the 
young  assistant,  and  even  Meg,  who  fancied  she  knew  my 
innermost  thoughts,  took  my  dislike  as  real.  It  u-as  real, 
as  far  as  it  went.  Everything  is  real,  for  that  matter, 
even  to  the  froth  on  champagne  or  seltzer — only  one 
wouldn't  like  to  make  a  steady  diet  of  it.  My  realities,  I 
began  to  find  out,  were  all  froth.  They  bubbled  up  for 
a  brief  time,  and  made  quite  a  fizz,  but  they  were  soon 
gone.  I  wondered  sometimes  if  there  were  anything 
substantial  left.  Certainly  I  was  making  very  little  out 
of  my  life,  and  I  felt  a  sort  of  disappointment  and  vexa- 
tion with  myself.  I  even  longed  to  rub  all  out  and  be- 
gin again,  as  I  used  when  a  child  to  dispose  of  my  sums 
in  Long  Division.  In  those  days  I  generally  rubbed 
them  out  with  my  tears.  It  really  seemed  to  be  the  way 
in  which  I  was  forced  to  rub  out  other  things,  for  I  often 
cried  passionately,  and  without  any  reason — as  I  after- 
ward explained  to  Meg— without  the  slightest  reason  in 
life. 

One  night  Mr.  Aymar  dropped  in,  as  usual,  a  little  be- 
fore tea.  He  could  not  stay,  he  said  ;  he  was  going  down 
to  the  beach  ;  old  Mrs.  Boss  had  been  very  ill  again  ;  thia 
time  he  feared  she  would  die.  She  had  missed  Miss  Flo 
so  much  ;  and  he  had  come  to  persuade  one  of  the  young 
ladies  to  visit  her  the  following  day,  to  read  to  her,  and 
comfort  her  in  her  loneliness  and  pain.  He  asked  Meg 
really,  but  he  looked  straight  at  me.  Meg  was  willing  to 
do  anything.  Semper paralus  had  been  her  watchword 


184  CLOVEELY. 

ever  since  she  was  born,  but  unfortunately  she  had  made 
an  engagement  to  go  up  to  the  city  with  Bella  Desmond 
the  next  day,  to  do  some  necessary  shopping,  and  it  could 
not  very  well  be  deferred. 

'But  I  will  go  the  very  next  morning,  Mr.  Aymar,' 
she  said  quickly,  *  and  do  all  that  I  can  for  her.' 

'  I  might  drive  Flo  down,'  said  Neal  from  mother's  side, 
vhere  he  had  stationed  himself  to  wind  a  huge  bail  of 
yarn,  '  but  she  couldn't  stay  very  long.  I  don't  think 
she  is  able  to  take  up  that  sort  of  thing  yet. ' 

'  It  would  do  me  good,'  said  Flo  appealingly. 

'  Yes,  for  a  little  while,  but  not  for  one  of  your  old 
fashioned,  lengthy  visitations  ;  you  know  I  can't  allow 
anything  of  the  kind,  and  you  mustn't  ask  it,  Aymar.' 

'I  don't,'  returned  he.  'I  don't  think  it  advisable  for 
Miss  Flo  to  see  her  in  her  present  weak  state.  The  Doc- 
tor thinks  she  can  only  live  a  few  days  longer.' 

And  then  he  left  Meg's  side  and  said,  as  he  stooped 
over  to  look  at  the  book  I  had  laid  aside,  '  I  have  never 
asked  a  favor  of  you  yet,  Miss  Barbara,  and  I  want  to 
break  through  established  rules  and  begin  with  one  to- 
night. ' 

'  Very  well,'  I  said,  'ask  away.     I  am  all  attention.' 

'  I  will  tell  you  presently, '  he  replied,  and  then  he  took 
out  his  visiting  list  and  began  to  look  it  over  with  Flo, 
nsking  her  advice  in  sundry  matters,  while  I  slipped  up 
to  the  open  window  waiting  for  an  opportune  moment  to 
get  away  unobserved,  and  avoid  Mr.  Aymar's  request.  I 
had  a  conviction  at  once  of  what  it  would  be.  He  had 
never  asked  anything  but  disagreeable  things  of  me  since 
I  had  known  him — as  if  life  were  to  be  made  up  of  hair 
shirts,  red  hot  gridirons,  and  peas  in  one's  shoes.  When 
he  shook  hands  with  mother,  and  the  family  all  rose,  I 


OUT    OF   TUNE.  185 

stepped  softly  out  Dn  the  piazza  and  went  around  to  the 
porch  at  the  back  of  the  house.  I  stood  there  complete- 
ly hidden  by  the  vines,  listening  for  the  firm  light  tread 
to  die  away,  when  to  my  surprise  it  came  nearer,  and  Mr. 
Ayrnar  in  another  instant  walked  up  the  steps. 

4  Thank  you,'  he  said  with  the  utmost  effrontery,  when 
he  saw  me  poised  irresolutely  on  the  top  stair,  '  I  had 
rjuch  rather  see  you  alone  than  make  my  request  before 
them  all.' 

4 1  didn't  come  here  for  that,'  I  retorted  indignantly. 
4 1  was  going  to  run  away  from  you  altogether.  I  think 
• — I  think — you  have  misunderstood  me  entirely, '  I  end- 
ed loftily. 

'Don't  let  us  disagree,'  he  said,  putting  out  his  hand. 
'  We  always  do,  I  believe.  Let  to-night  be  an  exception. 
I  am  so  interested  in  this  poor,  lonely,  old  woman.  I 
want  some  one  to  help  me,  and  you,  with  your  energy, 
are  the  one  above  all  others.  Miss  Barbara,  won't  you 
go  with  me  in  the  morning  ? ' 

4  To  see  old  Mother  Boss  ?  '  I  said  with  a  laugh.  '  Why, 
Mr.  Aymar,  I  haven't  recovered  from  the  effect  of  my 
visit  to  Matty  Price  yet.  What  can  you  see  that  is  inter- 
esting in  those  horrid  women  !  No,  I  wouldn't  go  for 
the  world.' 

4  But  your  duty — do  you  never  think  of  that  ? '  he  ask- 
ed earnestly. 

4  It  isn't  my  duty,'  I  interposed,  4  to  visit  a  parcel  of 
wretched  poor.  I  have  duties  at  home — ' 

'Undoubtedly.     Go  to  please  me,  then.' 

'  I  have  never  pleased  you  yet  in  anything  that  I  have 
done.  I  couldn't  venture  a  beginning  at  this  late  day.' 

'  It  is  never  too  late— while  we  have  life,'  he  said  slow- 
ly, '  and  the  bravest  and  truest  thing  that  a  man  or  a 


186  CLOVEIiLY. 

woman  can  do,  is  to  be  strong  to  please  God  and  to  do 
His  will.  It  isn't  that  I  think  visiting  the  poor  the  ono 
and  only  duty  of  life,  but  it  makes  a  beginning.  It  goes 
on  to  better  things  generally.  And  it  is  beautiful,  this 
blessedness  that  reaches  us  through  other  lives  ;  and  all 
the  little  paths  and  byways  that  lead  into  this  blesued- 
ness,  begin  with  Christ's  own  words  :  "  Inasmuch  as  ye 
did  it  unto  the  least  of  these  My  brethren  ye  did  it  unto 
Me.'" 

'But  Mr.  Aymar,'  I  said,  instantly  sobered  by  his 
earnestness,  and  yet  unwilling  to  concede  a  poiut  to  him, 
'  there  are  so  many  others  in  the  church  who  are  better 
fitted  to  perform  such  duties,  who  are  truly  good  and 
earnest,  who  enjoy  charities  and  revel  in  sacrifices  and 
good  deeds.  Why  don'fc  you  go  to  them  and  leave  me — 
in  peace,'  I  added,  after  a  momentary  hesitation  over  the 
word,  '  I  like  to  go  on  in  my  own  way— small  and  sel- 
fish, I  acknowledge,  but  there  is  something  absorbing 
about  it  when  one  once  begins,  and  I  want  to  be  let  alone, ' 
I  ended  irresolutely. 

He  stood  still  a  moment,  then  said  with  something  like 
timidity,  '  The  true  Shepherd  didn't  go  after  the  ninety 
and  nine  that  were  safe — ' 

'Thank  you,' I  answered  aimlessly.  'You  make  as- 
surance doubly  sure  that  one  day  I  shall  be  brought 
into  the  fold.' 

'  Don't  speak  lightly  of  it.  It  is  ull  so  real  and  so  aw- 
ful to  me.  Every  life  has  its  to-morrow  as  well  as  to- 
day. I  only  pray  that  God  may  make  your  careless 
words  true.  I  can  leave  you  in  His  care,'  and  then  he 
Baid  good-night,  lifted  his  hat  and  was  gone. 

When  Meg  came  up  to  bed  an  hour  later,  she  found 
me  apparently  asleep,  and  the  next  morning  she  was  up 


OUT   OF   TONE.  187 

and  away  when  I  was  really  sleeping.  It  was  a  beautiful 
morning,  and  Neal  and  Flo  went  off  for  a  ride,  while  I 
ran  up  to  my  studio  and  diligently  applied  myself  to 
work.  But  some  way  I  didn't  take  hold  of  it  with  the 
old  zest,  and  Mr.  Aymar's  grave  words  kept  coming  back 
to  me  again  and  again,  '  Every  life  has  its  to-morrow  as 
well  as  to-day.'  I  wished  before  the  day  was  over,  that 
I  had  not  only  consented  to  visit  Mother  Boss,  but  the 
whole  tribe  of  young  and  old  along  the  beach,  if  by  so 
doing  it  would  have  made  me  any  more  contented  and  at 
ease.  Finally,  after  tea,  when  Neal  and  Flo  were  lost  to 
everything  in  the  world  but  themselves,  and  mother 
and  father  had  taken  Bess  and  driven  off  to  the  depot 
for  Meg,  I  slipped  out  of  the  house,  and  took  the  short- 
est way  across  the  meadows  down  to  the  beach.  I  had  a 
small  bottle  of  wine  in  my  pocket  and  a  few  light  bis- 
cuits in  a  napkin.  I  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  what  to  take 
to  sick  people,  but  I  knew  instinctively  that  wine  was  a 
very  good  thing,  and  I  felt  I  was  armed  and  equipped. 
As  for  my  patient  I  had  never  seen  her,  but  happily  I 
was  not  unfamiliar  with  the  surroundings,  and  knew  al- 
most every  cottager's  name  along  the  shore.  I  am  sure 
that  I  had  heard  enough  of  them  all  to  go  directly  to  any 
spot  within  two  miles  of  Cleverly.  Mother  Boss'  was  the 
very  abode  of  desolation  I  thought,  when  I  reached  it 
I  knocked  rather  timidly,  but  no  one  came.  I  knocked 
again  more  boldly,  then  raised  the  latch  and  softly  push- 
ed open  the  door. 

'  May  I  come  in  ? '  I  asked,  then  peered  around  in  the 
gathering  gloom  to  see  some  signs  of  life,  but  the  room 
was  empty.  It  opened  however  into  another  one,  the 
door  of  which  was  ajar.  I  tapped  softly,  then  went  in» 
The  one  window  was  open  and  the  last  rays  of  the  setting 


188  CLOVERLY. 

sun  lit  up  the  dingy  -walls  and  showed  me  the  low  bed  on 
which  lay  a  pale,  haggard  figure — a  woman,  wasted  by 
age  and  sickness,  a  face  on  wliich,  even  to  my  inexperi- 
enced eye,  death  was  written  plainly.  Scant  gray  hairs 
were  scattered  loosely  over  her  temples,  her  bony  hands 
were  folded  across  her  bosom,  and  she  was  breathing 
heavily,  with  half-closed  eyes,  that  seemed  to  see  me  and 
yet  were  vacant  in  their  gaze. 

'Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  ? '  I  asked  softly, 
bending  over  her. 

'You  can  read  me  the  chapter  now,'  she  answered  fee- 
bly without  looking  up.  '  I  can  hear  it  better.  The  wine 
did  me  good.' 

Evidently  she  took  me  for  one  of  her  friends  who  had 
been  sitting  with  her.  But  the  chapter — it  must  be  from 
the  Bible,  I  thought.  I  took  my  bottle  softly  from  my 
pocket  and  put  it  on  the  table  by  the  bed,  together  with 
the  biscuits,  then  looked  around  and  saw  a  large,  old- 
fashioned,  much  worn  Bible,  on  the  top  of  the  cupboard. 
I  hastened  to  get  it  down,  and  while  the  last  rays  of  the  sun 
lit  up  the  room  with  a  glory  and  splendor  almost  like  that 
of  which  I  was  reading,  I  took  up  that  beautiful  descrip- 
tion of  the  new  city  coming  down  from  God  out  of  heav- 
en, adorned  as  a  bride  for  her  husband.  I  loved  the 
chapter.  It  was  beautiful  to  read  anywhere,  but  it  never 
seemed  more  perfect  and  comforting  than  it  did  here  by 
the  bedside  of  one  who  nmst  shortly  open  her  eyes  in  a 
Paradise  almost  as  fair  as  that  which  St.  John  saw  in  his 
heavenly  vision.  I  think  if  I  were  sick,  and  in  pain,  and 
very  near  death,  that  chapter  would  reconcile  me  to  all 
the  hardships  and  sorrows  of  a  life  that  was  almost  end- 
ed. How  strange  it  would  seem  to  look  back  on  the 
years  ?  How  little  and  mean,  life  and  all  its  belongings 


OUT   OF   TUNE.  189 

would  appear  ?  How  contemptible  and  of  little  worth  it 
seemed,  even  to  me,  as  I  read  of  those  who  had  come  up 
out  of  great  tribulation — those  whose  tears  were  forever 
wiped  away — for  there  should  be  no  more  death,  neither 
sorrow,  nor  crying,  nor  any  more  pain. 

I  sat  by  the  bed,  in  a  low,  wooden  chair,  reading  on 
and  on,  while  through  the  open  window  cf.me  that  whis- 
pering murmur  of  the  sea  as  it  gently  washed  the  shore, 
ar>d  it  seemed  almost  as  if  I  were  in  another  world,  quite 
removed  and  far  away  from  the  work-a-day  life  around 
us.  I  read  until  the  sunset  faded,  and  the  poor  sick 
creature  sank  into  an  uneasy  sleep,  breathing  heavily 
and  with  difficulty. 

To  me  it  was  a  strange  vigil.  I  watched  the  last  rays 
of  sunlight  die  out,  giving  place  to  soft  purple  shadows, 
and  still  the  woman  slept,  while  outside  the  low  whisper- 
ings of  the  water  mingled  with  those  other  mysterious 
sounds  of  night  and  nature,  while  death  behind  it  all  was 
brooding  among  the  shadows.  Presently  she  stirred, 
opened  her  eyes,  and  gazed  feebly  around.  I  poured  a 
little  of  the  wine  into  a  tumbler  and  put  a  spoonful  of  it 
to  her  lips  now  and  again.  She  took  it  eagerly,  looking 
at  me  all  the  time  with  inquiring  eye3. 

'Yer  not  Miss  Flo,'  at  last  she  said  with  a  feeble 
smile. 

'  No,  I'm  not  so  experienced  about  a  sick  bed.  I'm  her 
eister,  you  know.' 

'Yer  never  been  here  afore,'  she  whispered. 

'  No,  I  didn't  know  that  I  could  be  of  any  use.  I  wish 
I  had  come — but  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  now.  Have  you 
been  long  ill  ? ' 

'Aye,  it's  been  a  weary,  long  time.  I  couldn't  count 
the  days.' 


190  CLOYERLT. 

'And  are  you  here  alone  most  of  the  time  ?  ' 

'  Never  alone — never  alone.  There's  One  by  me  moat 
a'  the  time — One  who  knew  well  what  suffering  and  lone- 
liness, and  hunger  meant.  Aye,  it's  a  small  thing  forme 
to  lie  here  in  this  poor  little  room,  when  my  King  does 
not  disdain  to  come  down  an'  take  up  His  abode  wi'  me. 
My  King  an'  my  Lord  !  I  shall  see  Him  soon  now.  I 
shall  see  Him  in  His  glory.' 

'  But  does  no  one  take  care  of  you  through  the  day  and 
the  nights  ? '  I  asked  in  surprise. 

'Aye,  they're  a  comin'  and  goin'  most  o'  the  time, — 
an'  the  doctor  he  comes,  an'  the  minister, — not  the  old 
one, — he's  a  very  old  man,  and  a'most  as  near  the  king- 
dom as  I  am.  I  mind  me  well  when  he  was  young  and 
thought  nothin'  a  steppin'  over  to  see  me  and  mine, — 
but  they're  all  gone,  and  we're  a  goin'.  It's  a  woesome 
world, — the  one  I'm  goin'  to  is  better,  far  better.  Yes, 
the  new  minister's  here  every  day.  He  brought  me  the 
wine.  I  thought  it  was  him  when  yer  spoke  first.  I  must 
ha'  fell  asleep.  O  but  he's  my  comfort,  he's  my  com- 
fort.' 

Mr.  Aymar  !  yes,  it  was  he  no  doubt  for  whom  Mrs. 
Boss  mistook  me.  O  how  glad,  how  glad  I  was,  that  he 
had  gone  before  I  came  !  But  if  there  were  comfort  in 
knowing  that  he  was  not  here,  there  was  none  in  the  re- 
flection that  night  was  coming  on,  and  surely  I  could  not 
go  and  leave  the  poor  soul  alone.  She  talked  drowsily, 
now  and  again  taking  a  spoonful  of  wine,  and  then  drop- 
ping off  into  sleep.  Presently  she  waked  and  said  softly, 
with  her  eyes  closed,  '  Won't  you  pray  with  me  once 
more  before  yer  go  ?  ' 

Evidently  she  had  forgotten  that  I  was  a  stranger,  she 
might  even  have  thought  I  was  the  minister. — she  had 


OUT    OF   TUNE.  191 

taken  me  for  him  several  times.  I  dared  not  refuse,  and 
yet  I  trembled  as  I  knelt  by  the  bed,  and  opening  her 
Prayer  Book,  I  read  one  of  those  comforting  prayers  for 
the  sick  and  dying,  while  her  skinny,  feeble  hand,  rested 
on  mine.  It  was  so  nearly  dark  that  I  could  scarcely  see 
the  words,  yet  I  seemed  to  understand  intuitively  what 
they  were.  I  forgot  my  pretty  pink  lawn,  as  I  knelt  on 
the  poor  bare  floor.  I  forgot  everything  but  the  thought 
that  I  was  daring  to  pray  at  the  bedside  of  the  aged  saint 
who  was  so  near  her  journey's  end.  Iputmy  whole  heart 
into  the  petition.  God  knows  I  was  praying  more  for 
myself  than  for  the  dying  soul,  who  needed  His  help  less 
than  I  in  my  youth  and  strength. 

When  I  had  finished  she  was  breathing  heavily  again, 
but  another  voice  said  Amen, — a  voice  that  I  knew, — in- 
finitely soft  and  tender,  but  choked  now  as  if  it  struggled 
against  some  deep  feeling.  I  rose  quickly  and  saw  Mr. 
Aymar  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  his  head  bowed 
between  his  hands,  and  his  whole  attitude  showing  that 
he  too  had  heard  the  prayer.  I  felt  the  hot  blood  rush 
into  my  face,  but  I  leaned  forward  and  said  in  so  low  a 
tone  that  the  sleeping  woman  might  not  be  disturbed, 
'Have  you  come  to  stay  ?  If  so  I  will  go  home  now, — it 
is  getting  late.' 

He  did  not  answer,  he  seemed  hardly  to  hear  me,  but 
he  waa  looking  me  through  and  through  with  an  expres- 
sion of  intense  yearning  on  his  face.  Not  until  I  repeat- 
ed my  question  did  he  speak,  and  then  it  was  not  an  an- 
swer. 

'  O  Barbara  ! '  he  said  under  his  breath,  '  why  won't 
you  always  let  me  see  you  as  you  are  ?  Why  do  you 
hide  your  heart  from  me  in  this  way  ?  ' 

'It  would  boon  uninteresting  study, 'I  answered  al- 


192  CLOVERLY. 

most  flippantly,  '  scarcely  worth  your  trouble.  I  am  go- 
ing now,  Mr.  Aymar.  Good-night.' 

'  Not  alone  ?    You  surely  will  let  me  go  with  you  ? ' 

'  It  is  not  dark  yet,  and  I  am  used  to  walking  about 
here  until  very  late, — no,  you  must  stay  with  the  poor 
old  woman.  It  seems  to  be  the  chief  aim  of  your  exist- 
ence to  minister  to  such  wants.  I  am  glad  that  I  hap- 
pened in  to  relieve  you  for  a  moment. ' 

'Did  you  not  come  here  expressly  to  see  her, 
then  ? ' 

'  Me  ?  what  an  idea  !  I  don't  like  that  style  of  visit- 
ing, you  know  well  enough,  but  I  am  not  sorry  that  I 
happened  in  just  when  I  did.  If  I  can  do  anything  more, 
I  shall  be  very  glad,'  I  said,  half  repenting  wheu  I  saw 
the  grave,  troubled  look,  in  his  face  again.  I  tied  on  my 
hat  arid  stepped  lightly  across  the  room,  he  following  me 
to  the  door. 

'  Why  do  you  delight  in  torturing  me,  Barbara  ? '  he 
began,  laying  his  hand  on  my  arm.  '  Why  can  we  never 
understand  each  other.  I  would  almost  give  my  life  if  I 
could  think  you  were  really  the  woman  whom  I  saw  to- 
night kneeling  by  that  poor  soul's  side,  and  praying  with 
such  fervor.  Why  are  you  so  different  when  you  are  with 
me,  Barbara  ? ' 

'Thank  you  for  calling  me  Barbara,' I  said,  dropping 
him  a  profound  courtesy  ;  '  that  makes  three  times  in  the 
course  of  the  last  five  minutes  !  I  don't  think  I  was  ever 
so  honored  before  in  the  whole  course  of  our  acquaint- 
ance. And  now,  good-night  again.' 

I  was  ashamed  of  myself  before  I  had  gone  half  way 
down  the  slope.  I  turned,  with  the  idea  of  going  back 
and  ablung  him  to  forgive  rny  thoughtlessness  and  rude- 
ness ;  then  resolutely  went  on  when  I  saw  that  the  cot- 


OUT    OF   TUNE.  193 

tage  door  was  shut.  He  had  gone  back  to  stay  with  the 
dying  woman. 

How  little  and  mean  all  my  life  and  all  my  acts  seemed 
when  I  thought  of  what  he  was  doing  every  day.  No, 
Mr.  Aymar  could  not  but  despise  me  after  this,  and  I 
went  home  and  crept  guiltily  to  bed,  feeling  as  if  I  had 
been  doing  something  I  ought  not  to  have  done. 

Meg  said  the  next  day  to  mother  that  she  believed  I 
worried  more  than  any  one  about  Flo.  I  had  seemed  out 
of  tune  for  more  than  a  week. 

Yes,  that  was  the  very  word.  Why  the  world  itseli 
seemed  out  of  tune  lately,  and  why  should  not  I  ? 


CHAPTER  XV. 

GOING  AWAY. 

'  News,  news ! '  shouted  Meg,  running  up  stairs  one 
morning  after  a  visit  to  the  Desmonds. 

We  were  sitting  with  mother  in  her  large,  square,  best 
room,  over  the  parlor,  across  the  hall  from  ours.  She 
had  taken  the  largest  room,  because,  as  she  said,  it  wasn't 
a  supposable  thing  that  a  woman  with  six  children  could 
indulge  in  the  luxury  of  an  apartment  all  to  herself,  so 
she  had  really  provided  accommodation  for  eight.  There 
was  an  old-fashioned  lounge  on  which  father  took  his 
morning  nap,  with  a  newspaper  dropped  over  his  eyes. 
It  never  made  the  slightest  difference  if  we  talked  all  to- 
gether or  were  unnaturally  quiet,  his  nap  seemed  to  go 
on  all  the  same.  And  there  were  comfortable  easy  chairs, 
and  a  rocker,  in  which  Meg  generally  was  swinging  back 
and  forth,  and  a  sewing  machine — beside,  there  was  a 
cushion,  a  real  mother's  cushion  it  was,  with  pins  of 
every  size  to  accommodate  us.  Mother  said  we  never 
left  her  anything  but  crooked  ones,  and  used  to  threaten 
locking  it  up,  but  she  never  did.  Then  there  was  her 
capacious  workbasket,  which  seemed  to  us  more  like  a  rep- 
resentation of  the  goddess  Plenty,  than  the  graceful  fig- 
ure usually  employed  to  denote  that  respectable  individ- 
ual. It  was  always  full  to  overflowing  with  scissors, 
spools  of  cotton,  and  gay-colored  silks,  and  two  or  three 
odd  thimbles,  with  a  wax  heart  and  strawberry  dangling 
from  the  handles.  Ever  since  we  had  been  old  enough 
to  flourish  a  needle  and  thread,  that  basket  held  as  many 
allurements  out  to  us  as  an  open  polar  sea  to  an  explorer. 


Gorxo  AWAY.  195 

There  was  no  telling  what  undiscovered  wonders  await- 
ed us  there,  though  we  had  continued  our  researches 
from  babyhood  up  to  the  present  time. 

On  this  particular  morning,  mother  and  I  were  busy  at 
the  machine,  one  basting,  the  other  sewing,  while  Flo 
trifled  over  some  delicate  ruffling,  and  even  Bess  was 
learning  very  soberly  to  '  lay  gathers '  and  take  care  of 
her  cat  and  two  kittens  at  the  same  time.  Bob  had 
brought  up  a  broken  bat  and  was  tying  twine  around  the 
handle  when  Meg  rushed  in,  startling  us  with  her  cry  of 
news. 

'It  must  be  something  of  importance,' I  said,  'for 
you've  dashed  up  stairs  leaving  Dolly  out  in  the  sun  with 
the  reins  dragging  on  the  walk.  She'll  step  over  to  our 
flower  bed  and  make  no  end  of  a  row.' 

'Ono  she  won't,' cried  Meg  subsiding  into  a  rocker 
and  throwing  off  hat  and  gloves.  '  Nat  is  going  to  drive 
around  to  the  barn — that  is,  if  he  recovers  from  the  shock 
I've  given  him — for  it's  such  a  piece  of  news  !  guess,  girls, 
all  of  you — and  you  too,  mother — guess  away,  quick.' 

'  O  the  Shah  is  coming  to  visit  Mrs.  Desmond,'  I  said, 
'  or  perhaps  His  Imperial  Highness  the  Czar  of  all  the 
Kussias  is  there  already.  Nothing  stuns  one  that  comes 
from  that  quarter.' 

'But  this  will,' said  Meg  decidedly.  'Mr.  Aymar  is 
going  away.' 

'  Going  away  ! '  and  mother  and  Flo  echoed  my  '  go- 
ing away,'  and  then  we  all  sat  and  looked  at  each  other  as 
if  our  little  particular  world  had  suddenly  come  to  an 
end,  and  we  were  waiting  to  see  what  would  happen  next. 

'  He  was  here  night  before  last,  and  he  never  hinted 
such  a  thing, '  said  mother. 

'And  how  can  the  church  let  him  go  ?'  asked  Flo.    '  We 


196  CLOVERLY. 

may  as  well  give  up,  for  we  can  never  get  another  Mr. 
Ay  mar.' 

And  then  I  said  '  Going  away  ?  '  tLis  time  interroga- 
tively. 

'Yes,'  said  Meg,  'going  to  Germany.' 

'  To  Germany  ? ' 

'  Why,  what  an  absurd  echo  you  are,  Bab  —yes,  going 
to  Germany — it's  all  the  fashion  now-a-days.  People  will 
speak  of  crossing  the  ferry  next,  when  they  go.  It  isn't 
anything — not  like  a  trip  to  the  centre  of  the  earth  and 
home  by  the  nearest  volcano.  I  dare  say  we'll  all  go 
ourselves,  when  we  can  fprac?/en  Sie  Drutsch  a  little  better.' 

'  But  why  does  Mr.  Aymar  go  so  suddenly  ? ' 

'  His  mother  is  very  ill,  and  she  has  been  ordered  to 
try  the  waters  at  Ems.  He's  an  only  son,  you  know,  and 
his  mother  is  a  widow.  They  will  go  to  the  South  of 
France  for  the  Winter  months,  but  the  rest  of  the  time 
will  be  spent  at  Ems. ' 

'  The  rest  of  the  time  ? '  I  echoed  '  Pray,  how  long  is 
he  to  stay  ?  Does  he  give  up  his  position  here  ? ' 

'Entirely,'  said  Meg.  ' He  goes  for  a  year-and-a-half, 
perhaps  two  years,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leighton  feel  as  if 
they  cannot  part  with  him.  Mr.  Leighton  said  he  was 
willing  to  give  up  and  have  him  made  rector  at  once  if 
only  he  would  stay.  And  the  parish  is  doing  so  well — 
everything  in  such  fine  woiking  order — why,  do  you 
know,  Mrs.  Desmond  actually  cried  when  she  told  me.  I 
found  Netta  Homans  there  when  I  went  in,  and  the  whole 
party  looked  as  if  they  had  been  to  a  funeral.  I  declare 
it  was  quite  sepulchral.  And  I  feel  about  as  badly  my- 
self, though  Mr.  Aymar  isn't  the  only  good  clergyman 
left  in  the  world,  I  hope.  And  then  he  promises  to  come 
back — though  of  course  he  never  will,  with  the  prestige 


GOING    AWAY.  197 

of  European  travel  about  him  and  two  years  of  experi- 
ence and  growth.  No  1  we  may  as  wt-11  give  him  up. 
We  have  lost  our  Joss.  ' '  Little  children,  keep  yourselves 
from  idols."  That's  a  good  text  for  the  next  new  comer 
to  preach  from.' 

'  When  will  he  go  ?  '  said  mother  speaking  first. 

'  That's  the  very  worst  part  of  it.  Eight  off.  He  will 
preach  his  last  sermon  next  Sunday,  and  leave  the  follow- 
ing morning.  Bella  told  me  the  moment  that  he  receiv- 
ed the  news  he  began  to  pay  his  farewell  visits  along  the 
shore.  He  will  say  good-bye  to  everybody,  but  it  can 
only  be  a  hasty  word  to  each  one.' 

'  I'm  awful  sorry. '  said  Bess,  dropping  her  work  in  her 
lap,  and  shedding  two  or  three  childish  tears  on  the  kit- 
ten's head.  '  I  thought  he'd  stay  here  and  marry  sister 
Flo,  and  then  she  could  visit  the  poor  all  the  time,  and 
it  would  be  so  beautiful.' 

A  faint  blush  stole  into  Flo's  face,  when  I  inquired 
'  How  many  do  you  suppose  Flo  would  like  to  marry  ? 
I'm  sure  I  think  she  ought  to  be  quite  content  with  Neal 
Huntington.  I  certainly  think  she  showed  good  taste  in 
selecting  him  and  leaving  the  priest  out  in  the  cold.' 

'How  can  you  talk  so,  Barbara,'  remonstrated  Flo. 
'You  kno?7  Mr.  Ay  mar  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  as 
marrying  me  or  any  one  else.  He  is  as  devoted  to  his 
Church  as  any  of  the  primitive  Christians,  and  I  fully 
believe  he  approves  of  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy.  Think 
of  the  work  he  has  begun  here.  And  I  don't  believe  he 
cares  for  anything  else.' 

'  Well,  he  ought  not  to,'  I  argued,  '  that's  his  business. 
But  ministers,  even  the  most  devoted,  sometimes  marry. 
I've  heard  of  such  events  at  rare  intervals  in  my  life.  It 
wouldn't  have  been  at  all  strange  or  unlikely  if  he  had  liked 


198  CLOVEllLT. 

you,  bat  it  would  have  been  very  absurd  for  you  to  have 
thrown  yourself  away  on  him.  It  would  have  spoiled  the 
very  brightest  ro  Lance  that  Meg  and  I  ever  put  together 
— wouldn't  it,  Meg? — and  I'm  not  sorry  he  is  going.  The 
adulation  that  he  receives,  is  enough  to  turn  a  wiser 
man's  head.  I  hope  the  next  one  we  get  will  have  a  wife 
arid  six  children.' 

'So  we  can  love  the  Gospel  for  the  Gospel's  sake,  I 
suppose,'  said  Meg.  '  Well,  it  is  a  trial  of  one's  princi- 
ples to  have  a  man  like  Mr.  Aymar  placed  over  one. 
One  is  sometimes  puzzled  to  know  whether  she  loves  re- 
ligion for  the  preacher's  sake  or  the  Lord's.  It's  just  the 
very  idea  Netta  Homans  started  to-day.  She  said  she 
had  been  in  a  trance,  as  it  were,  ever  since  Mr.  Aymar 
came.  She  didn't  know  whether  she  were  better  or  not — • 
she  only  knew  she  wanted  to  be,  and  she  wondered  if  the 
feeling  would  last  if  Mr.  Leighton  droned  the  law  out  to 
her  instead  of  Mr.  Aymar. ' 

'  If  he  ever  comes  back  and  happons  to  bring  a  wife 
with  him,  she'll  be  able  to  tell, '  said  Bob,  leaning  on  his 
bat  contemplatively.  'I'm  sorry  he's  going,  though.' 

'But  sister  Barbara  don't  care  a  bit,'  whimpered  Bess, 
cuddling  her  kittens  and  wiping  her  eyes. 

'Bab's  a  woman,'  said  Bob  sententiously,  'a  very 
young  one,  and  that's  the  reason  she  tries  to  daal  in  con- 
trarieties. Mother,  I  wonder  if  you  were  ever  like  the 
young  girls  Eow-a-days  :  they  think  they  know  mora 
than  any  one  ever  knew  before.' 

'I  suppose  I  was  like  the  rest  of  the  world,'  said  mo- 
ther, basting  her  seam  and  smiling  quietly.  'I  don't 
feel  very  unlike  the  rest  of  womankind,  now.' 

'  But  you  are,  you  are! — you  know,  girls,  she  isn't  a  bit 
like  Mrs.  Desmond,  for  instance. ' 


GOING    AWAY.  199 

'No,'  said  motlier,  'I  never  saw  the  day  when  I  could 
be  so  agreeable.  Mrs.  Desmond  is  a  very  cultivated  lady. ' 

'Cultivated!'  I  cried  with  infinite  scorn.  'I  don't 
think  its  right  to  name  you  two  in  the  same  breath.  Your 
little  lady  isms  are  so  different  from  the  claptrap  simplici- 
ty and  enthusiasm  of  Mrs.  Desmond.  I  wish  peoi  le 
could  be  themselves,  and  what  God  and  nature  intended 
them  to  be.  A  woman  seems  weak  just  because  she  don't 
dare  act  out  her  true  nature.' 

'A  woman's  greatest  strength  is  her  weakness,'  said 
Bob  dogmatically.  'That  remark  isn't  original,  girls,  as 
you  might  suppose.  Somebody  a  good  deal  wiser  than  I 
ever  hope  to  be,  said  it,  and  you  know  it  is  true,  Bab,  al- 
though you  are  always  clamoring  about  her  rights.  Her 
rights  indeed  !  All  the  rights  that  she  ought  to  look  for 
or  claim,  are  those  of  home — loving  her  husband  and 
coring  for  her  children.' 

'There  you  are  right,  Bob,' said  mother.  'I  think  I 
am  acting  out  my  full  nature  here,  with  my  husband  and 
children.  The  sphere  of  home  is  quite  large  enough  for 
me,  my  dears.' 

'  What  do  girls  of  Bab's  tender  years  know  about  that 
sphero  or  any  other,'  continued  Bob,  provokingly. 
'  When  they  rave  about  high  social  and  intellectual  devel- 
opment, it  only  means  fol-de-rol  and  fashion.  It's  fash- 
iorable  to  talk  about  development  and  progress — not  one 
in  a  thousand  knows  what  it  means.  Modern  brains  are 
not  like  the  old-fashioned  ones,  mother.  There's  an  en- 
tire difference  in  the  cerebral  structure  now-a-days.  Bab 
thinks  you  are  circumscribed  and  cramped,  when  you  are 
expanding  every  day,  you  dear  little  mother.  As  if  your 
moral  and  intellectual  nature  would  suffer,  because  you 
are  quietly  making  a  beautiful  home  for  us  all,  and  try- 


200  CLOVEELY. 

ing  to  lead  us  up  to  heaven  the  old,  simple  way.  If  you 
only  gave  "  conversations"  and  "readings,"  and  had  a 
literary  lion  or  two  at  a  big  crush  ball,  and  if  you  took 
all  the  money  that  you  give  to  the  poor  and  bought  gew- 
gaws, and  if  you  could  clasp  your  ringed  fingers  and  talk 
about  "God  leadings,"  and  "instincts,"  aud  "evolu- 
tion," and  "affinity,"  as  glibly  as  you  talk  over  your  house- 
hold matters,  why  Bab  would  be  set  up  for  life  and  fancy 
we  were  all  on  the  high  road  to  bliss.' 

'  Hear  !  hear  ! '  said  Meg  laughing  and  clapping  her 
hands. 

'  I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  of  yourself, 
Bob  Fox,' I  exclaimed  indignantly.  'I  don't  want  mo- 
ther to  do  anything  of  the  kind.  I  like  her  just  as  she 
is,  and  I  wouldn't  change  her  for  the  world  ;  but  if  we 
had  money  we  would  have  position,  and  people  would 
crowd  about  her  just  as  they  do  at  Mrs.  Desmonds,  and 
every  one  would  see  just  how  superior  she  really  is;  and  I 
do  think,  Bob — you  may  laugh  just  as  much  as  you  like, 
a  woman  that  has  money  will  be  accounted  brilliant  and 
wise  if  she  be  a  fool — she  can  even  commit  improprieties 
and  be  thought  only  eccentric  and  original,  while  those 
who  haven't  money,  and  are  sometimes  clever  enough  to 
set  up  for  wits  and  philosophers,  if  they  only  had  tha 
chance,  are  obliged  to  fold  their  hands  and  make  a  very 
effective  background.  So  I  do  think  that  women,  and 
young  g'irls  too,  are  so  circumscribed  and  hedged  in, 
that  they  seldom  if  ever  give  their  powers  full  scope.' 

'You  do  look  very  like  one  who  has  allowed  herself  to 
be  hedged  in  by  the  proprieties  of  life,'  laughed  Meg. 

'  Dear  me  ! '  I  said.  '  If  you  tied  up  a  puppy  from  the 
time  that  it  opened  its  eyes,  it  wouldn't  dream  of  going 
beyond  the  length  of  its  rope. ' 


GOIXG    AWAY.  201 

'  Wouldn't  it  '  roared  Bob.  '  It  would  nearly  wriggle 
its  blessed  young  neck  off  as  soon  as  it  was  old  enough  ro 
prance  around  the  full  length  of  the  baiter,  and  if  is 
didn't  hang  itself  with  it,  would  sit  down  and  gnaw  it 
off.  I  know  all  about  puppies — you  can't  tell  me — and 
women  are  like  them,  Bab,  that's  a  fact.' 

Somehow  the  laugh  was  always  turned  on  me.  It 
wouldn't  do  for  me  to  wriggle  my  neck  off  to  get  rid  of 
the  rope  ;  the  only  way  was  to  sit  down  patiently  and 
gnaw  it  off,  as  Bob  had  suggested. 

Privately,  to  this  my  chronicle,  let  me  confess  it,  no 
matter  how  much  of  a  woman  I  tried  to  be,  I  always  turn- 
ed out  the  same  silly  girl,  Bab  Fox.  After  all,  one  can't 
change  their  nature  as  one  would  their  gown — if  only 
one  could,  I  know  I  would  come  out  in  a  spotless  white 
cambric  every  day — every  day  of  my  life. 


CHAPTEB  XVI. 

GOOD  BYE. 

Mr.  A.ymar  did  not  come  up  to  see  us  all  of  that  week. 
I  heard  of  him  every  day,  going  about  from  house  to 
house,  beginning  with  the  poor  people  and  fishermen, 
and  saying  good-bye  to  each  one  as  kindly  and  tenderly 
as  if  he  had  been  born  and  brought  up  among  them. 
There  was  a  general  lamentation  throughout  the  parish, 
and  the  people,  as  well  as  Mr.  Leighton,  were  all  asking 
what  shall  we  do  now  ? 

I  had  not  seen  the  young  clergyman  to  speak  to  him, 
since  I  had  parted  from  him  at  Mrs.  Boss'  door.  Mother 
said  once  that  it  seemed  strange  that  he  had  not  been 
near  us  in  such  a  long  time — more  than  a  week — when 
he  was  usually  here  every  other  night,  but  Flo  said  she  had 
met  him  when  riding  out  with  Neal,  and  he  had  told  her 
how  busy  he  was,  also  that  he  was  reserving  his  last  even- 
ing for  us.  But  Sunday  came  around,  and  we  saw  noth- 
ing of  him  until  we  went  to  church  and  heard  his  fare- 
well sermon.  He  looked,  pale  and  worn,  as  indeed  there 
was  reason  he  should,  with  his  three  services  and  Sunday- 
school,  beside  all  the  work  that  he  had  done  in  the  past 
week.  And  there  was  old  Mrs.  Boss'  funeral,  at  which  I 
dared  not  present  myself,  and  ever  so  many  baptisms  ; 
for  every  mother  felt,  just  at  the  last  moment,  that  no 
one  but  Mr.  Ay  mar  could  perform  that  ceremony,  for 
which  he  had  been  trying  to  prepare  them  from  the  time 
of  his  coming. 

Yes,  he  looked  pale  and  worn,  and  he  felt  keenly  this 
first  parting  from  his  people.  There  was  scarcely  a  dry 


GOOD    BYE.  203 

eye  iu  the  chuix-hwhen  the  benediction  was  pronounced, 
and  the  porch  was  quite  crowded  with  those  who  linger- 
ed to  shake  hands  once  more.  We  old  not  wait  to  take 
him  up  to  the  house,  and  bad  tea  without  him,  although 
Neal  said  he  was  coming. 

Toward  dusk,  as  I  sat  on  a  bench  under  one  of  the 
wide-spreading  maple  trees,  reading,  I  heard  tbe  well 
known  footsteps  coming  up  the  walk.  I  did  not  know 
whether  to  go  and  meet  him  in  the  parlor  with  the  others, 
tOT  stay  out  there  and  read  my  book.  What  could  I  say 
to  him?  We  had  never  been  able  to 'get  on  together, 
and  it  would  ill  become  me  to  profess  regret — particular- 
ly before  all  the  family,  when  I  had  so  repeuted'y  declar- 
ed that  I  would  be  glad  if  he  went  away.  No,  on  the 
whole  I  thought  it  safer  to  go  on  with  my  story,  though 
it  was  so  dark  I  could  scarcely  see.  For  one  thing,  he 
would  never  knew  that  I  had  heard  him  go  up  the  walk. 

I  sat  there  alone,  it  seemed  an  interminable  time,  p/e- 
tending  to  read,  and  trying  to  delude  myself  into  the  be- 
lief that  the  book  was  interesting,  when  I  heard  Bob  from 
the  porch  calling  '  Barbara,  Barbara. '  There  was  no  use 
in  saying  that  I  could  not  hear  that  vigorous  young 
voice  all  over  the  farm.  I  got  up  slowly,  made  a  speak- 
ing trumpet  out  of  my  hands,  and  shouted  back  '  here  ' 
with  all  my  might,  as  I  crossed  the  lawn.  They  were  all 
out  on  the  piazza  together,  shaking  hands  and  saying 
good-bye  to  Mr.  Aymar.  When  he  saw  me  he  touched 
his  hat  as  he  ran  down  the  steps,  and  came  down  to  meet 
me  alone.  I  stood  on  the  gravelled  path  waiting  for  him 
to  come  up,  thinking  how  delightful  it  was  not  to  have 
Bob  and  Meg  listening  to  hear  what  I  should  say.  I  had 
an  innate  horror  of  compromising  myself  in  any  way, 
and  yet,  whil«  I  stood  there  lhat  rnomtnt  alone,  I  made 


204  CLOVEKLY. 

up  my  mind  to  part  from  the  young  clergyman  pleasant- 
ly and  utterly  ignore  our  former  differences.  I  was 
ashamed  to  have  him  carry  away  his  previous  opioion  of 
me — beside,  if  we  were  ever  to  meet  again,  it  would  be 
so  excessively  awkward.  He  came  toward  me,  holding 
out  his  hand  and  saying  something  about  being  glad  not 
to  miss  seeing  me,  and,  by  one  impulse,  we  kept  on  walk- 
ing toward  the  gate,  though  slowly,  after  the  first  greet- 
ings were  exchanged.  He  held  out  his  arm  and  I  took 
it,  with  a  sort  of  surprise  at  myself,  for  the  unlocked  for 
position  of  friendliness  that  it  gave  us.  I  think  for  a 
moment  he  hardly  knew  wLat  to  say,  so  there  was  an 
awkward  pause,  which  he  broke  rather  i-uddenly  with 

'  Miss  Barbara,  I  am  glad  to  have  you  a  little  while  to 
myself,  to-night.  I  have  not  seen  you  for  a  whole  week, 
and  you  know  I  am  going  away.  You  won't  quarrel  with 
me  this  last  night  ?  ' 

'  If  you  put  it  to  me  in  that  way,  I  shall  most  certain- 
ly say  no,'  I  laughed.  'We'll  bury  the  hatchet,  right 
here  under  this  tree,  and  I  promise  not  to  dig  it  up — that 
is — not  in  a  long,  long  time.  I  can't  say  how  long,  for 
you  know  my  unfortunate  proclivities.  But  then,  you 
may  never  come  back.' 

'Yes, 'he  said  quickly,  'I  think  I  shall  return  if  my 
life  is  spared.  It  woujd  add  another  pang  to  the  parting 
if  I  felt  it  was  to  be  forever.  I  don't  want  my  people  to 
forget  me,  and — perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  it  -but  I 
don't  want  them  to  be  so  thoroughly  satisfied  with  the 
one  who  takes  my  place  that  they  will  not  be  glad  to  wel- 
come me  back. ' 

'  There  is  no  danger  of  that,'  I  replied,  'judging  from 
present  appearances. '  He  shook  his  head. 

'  I  should  love  to  think  so,  but  friendship  seldom  sur- 


GOOD    BYE.  205 

vives  a  long  absence.  I  shall  go  on  deluding  myself  with 
the  hope,  however,  until  I  see  you  all  again.' 

'And  when  will  that  be  ?  ' 

'In  a  year — perhaps  a  year-and-a-half — God  willing.' 

' Mr.  Aymar,'  I  said  suddenly.  'I  don't  mean  to  make 
any  late  in  the  day  professions  to  you — I  hate  such  things 
— but  I  just  want  to  say  that  though  your  little  lectures 
— yes,  you  have  lectured  me,  you  know  you  have — and 
your  sermons,  your  example,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
haven't  made  me  any  better,  you  have  still  given  me  the 
impulse  to  long  for  better  things.  And  perhaps,  when 
you  come  back,  you  will  not  .find  me  the  intolerable  child 
that  I  bave  been  all  along.  No,  dou't  say  a  word,  please; 
don't  think  lam  asking  your  pardon,'  and  I  gave  a  short 
laugh,  '  or  making  valiant  promises.  I  won't  do  either. 
It  isn't  my  fashion.  I  only  follow  yonr  own  suggestions 
— just  a  glimmer  as  it  were.' 

He  took  no  unfair  advantage  of  my  half-way  apology, 
although  involuntarily  he  pressed  my  hand  that  laid  upon 
his  arm  a  little  closer  to  his  side. 

'  You  make  me  almost  happy, '  he  said,  softly,  '  if  it 
were  a  possible  thing  to  find  any  happiness  in  this  going 
away.  It  all  seems  so  sudden  and  sad  to  me — my  mo- 
ther's long  continued  illness,  and  my  determination  to 
go  abroad  with  her.  But  there  have  been  so  many  pleas- 
ant assurances  of  friendship  given,  and  so  much  interest 
and  positive  regret  expressed,  that  it  has  stirred  my  heart 
strangely.  And  to-night  you  have  added  to  my  happi- 
ness, how  much,  you  can  never  know.' 

'Why,  because  I  promise  like  a  child  who  is  tired  of 
being  bad,  "never  to  do  so  any  more "  ?  I'm  glad  if  its 
any  comfort  to  you.  It  isn't  to  me.  I've  done  nothing 
but  make  rules  and  break  them  ever  sine*;  I  was  old 


206  CLOVERLTf. 

enough  to  remember,  so  it  don't  do  to  promise  too  much. 
I've  been  so  foolish — it  is  rather  an  unusual  thing  for 
me  to  confess  it,  but  I  had  just  as  soon  do  it  to-night ;  I 
feel  in  the  true  spirit  of  confession — foolish  and  waste- 
ful, throwing  away  all  my  chances  of  good,  and  spoiling 
other  people's  loo,  I  fancy.  Some  day  I  am  guiug  to 
try  if  I  can  walk  backward  and  pick  it  all  up. ' 

'Better  press  on  before,'  said  Mr.  Aymar.  'You  have 
all  the  rest  of  your  life  before  you,  and  heaven,  and  God. 
He  can  go  back  and  blot  out  all  the  lost  opportunities. 
It  wont  do  for  us  to  retrace  our  steps  in  order  to  find 
them.  That's  the  comfort  that  we  rest  in  when  we  say 
we  believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins. ' 

'But  if  they  are  not  positive  sins,' I  said,  'just  little 
ignorances,  or  carelessness,  sins  of  omission  or  commis- 
sion, what  are  we  to  do  then  ?  I  have  such  a  disagreea- 
ble remembrance  of  those  words  "I  would  thou  wert 
either  cold  or  hot,"  and  I  suppose  you  will  tell  me  in  this 
progressive  age,  even  ignorance  is  a  sin.' 

'  Wilful  ignorance,'  he  replied  gravely.  '  There  is  One 
who  came  into  the  world  and  bore  all  the  pain  and  the 
borrow  of  it,  just  that  we  might  lean  upon  Him  and  re- 
ceive His  strength — that  He  might  teach  us  how  to  live, 
— that  He  might  take  away  our  blindness  and  give  us 
sight.  It  is  a  matter  of  such  simple  faith  and  trust.  It 
isn't  a  thing  that  we  can  put  on  or  off  as  we  would  a  gar- 
ment, when  a  suitable  occasion  offers,  or  at  times,  to 
please  ourselves.  We  must  give  ourselves  up  into  His 
care  and  grow.  Think  of  the  lilies  of  the  field — how 
they  are  clothed  with  purity  and  beauty,  hidden  away  out 
of  sight  among  the  green  leaves,  and  yet  covered  with  such 
glory,  that  even  a  king  in  his  costly  raiment  is  not  liken- 
ed to  them.  And  it  is  so  simple — to  grow  and  blossom, 


GOOD    BYE.  207 

and  to  leave  God  to  take  care  of  the  rest.  After  all  otir 
strivings,  we  can  come  to  nothing  nobler  or  truer.  When 
it  is  Spring  again,  Miss  Barbara,  you  must  go  out  into 
the  fields  and  search  for  the  lilies.  They  will  teach  you 
many  tlnugs.' 

'  But  the  love  and  the  growth  isn't  for  everybody,'  I 
argued  feebly.'  '  There  are  saints  and  sinners — and  there 
always  will  be — wheat  and  tares,  sheep  and  goats.  It 
isn't  a  pleasant  thought,  but  you  know  it  is  true.' 

'And  yet  the  messag3  is  to  all,  "  Come  unto  Me  all  ye 
that  are  weary  and  are  heavy  laden."  ' 

'  But  I  don't  feel  "  heavy  laden," '  I  said  ;  '  there's  the 
trouble.' 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  answered  quickly;  '  that  is  not 
true,  and  you  have  no  right  to  think  it  or  say  it.  You 
liave  at  times  felt  yourself  in  sore  need  and  extremity. 
You  would  never  have  asked  me  the  questions  that  you 
have,  if  you  had  not  passed  through  such  times  of  doubt 
and  bewilderment,  and  longing  for  rest.  "  Thou  oughS 
est  especially  to  humble  thyself,  when  thou  feele&t  in- 
wardly little  or  no  devotion  ;  and  yet  not  to  be  too  much 
dejected,  nor  to  grieve  inordinately.  God  often  giveth 
in  one  short  moment  that  which  He  for  a  long  time  hath 
denied  ;  He  giveth  sometimes  in  the  end  that  which  in 
the  beginning  of  thy  prayer  He  de'erred  to  grant." 
Those  are  good,  Irue  words,  that  were  uttered  so  long 
ago,  Miss  Barbara.' 

'  Where  do  you  find  them  ?  '  I  asked,  as  I  saw  him 
looking  at  me  wistfully  and  eageily  in  the  dim  light,  as 
if  he  were  longing  to  say  a  great  deal  more. 

'  In  a  little  book  that  h;is  been  such  a  comfort  to  me. 
Miss  Barbara,  would  you  dislike  it  if  I  offered  it  to  you  ? 
not  as  a  souvenir,  or  anj  thing  that  could  be  called  a  gift, 


208  CLOVERLY. 

but  as  something  that  has  helped  me  so  much — and  it 
may  help  you  ?  You  give  me  courage  to  believe  that  all 
you  want  is  a  helping  hand.' 

He  took  from  his  side  pocket  a  little  red  lined  book, 
with  brown  covers,  on  which  I  could  see,  in  the  twilight, 
w.i s  stamped  a  small  gilt  cross.  'It  is  my  Thomas  a 
Keen  pis,'  he  said.  'You  won't  care  because  it  is  nearly 
worn  out  and  defaced  with  marks,  will  you  ?  You  won't 
think  it  impertinent  on  my  part  to  offer  it  to  you  ? ' 

'I  will  thank  you  very  much  instead,'  I  said,  taking  the 
book  and  then  seating  myself  on  a  bench  under  one  of 
the  trees. 

He  surely  did  not  expect  me  to  walk  with  him  any 
farther  than  the  gate,  I  said  to  myself,  but  still  he  linger- 
ed, walking  slowly  up  and  down  before  me,  with  one  hand 
thrust  in  his  tightly  buttoned  black  coat. 

'  I  hardly  know  how  to  express  myself,  Miss  Barbara,' 
he  said.  '  I  fear  that  I  am  but  a  blunderer  when  I  want  to 
speak  the  clearest ;  but  you  will  at  least  remember  all  my 
desires  and  prayers  for  you — when  you  read  this  book. 
I  hope  you  will  not  forget  me.  If  I  live  I  shall  come 
back.  It  is  not  like  a  parting  really — don't  let  us  make 
it  so — only  a  good-bye,  and  a  certainty  that  if  God  spares 
our  lives  we  may  meet  again.' 

He  seemed  so  unusually  agitated  that  I  looked  up  at 
him  with  amazement,  and  then  I  laughed  and  gave  him 
my  hand. 

'  Good-bje,  then.  Meg  says  it  is  a  mere  crossing  the 
ferry — we  shall  not  feel  you  are  so  very  far  away  after  all. 
And  remember  that  I  haven't  made  any  very  strong 
promises  of  reform.  It  won't  do  to  expect  too  much, 
you  know. ' 

He  held  my  hand  in  his  while  I  was  talking,  standing 


GOOD    BYE.  209 

irresolutely  a  moment,  then  said  suddenly,  '  Good-bye, 
and  God  bless  and  keep  you, — won't  you  say  the  same  to 
me  ?  You  can  afford  to  be  generous  just  at  the  last,  and 
part  with  me  as  a  friend. ' 

'  God  bless  and  keep  you,'  I  said,  looking  up  at  him  in 
surprise.  '  I  am  sorry  you  are  going  away,  for  you  don't 
want  to  go,  and  it  makes  it  all  the  harder  for  you.  Good- 
bye.' 

He  bent  over  me  an  instant,  touched  my  forehead  with 
his  lips,  and  before  I  could  say  a  word,  dropped  my 
hands  and  disappeared,  leaving  me  alone  under  the  trees 
with  crimson  cheeks,  feeling  tbat  it  was  all — even  to  his 
going  away — a  dream. 

When  I  went  back  to  the  house  I  became  vaguely  aware 
of  some  excitement  there.  Neal  was  walking  up  and 
down  the  parlor,  and  it  was  mother,  not  Flo,  whose  arm 
was  about  him. 

'  What  upon  earth — '  I  began,  and  then  stood  still. 

'Flo  is  not  well,'  mother  said  in  an  agitated  way. 
'  She  has  overtaxed  her  strength  to-day,  just  as  I  thought 
she  would.  You  know  she  would  attend  the  three  ser- 
vices, a  thing  she  has  not  done  since  the  Doctor  forbade 
it,  and  she  had  a  sudden  attack  of  faintness  that  com- 
pletely unmanned  this  poor  boy.  My  dear,  you  want  to 
go  and  see  her,  but  you  will  make  her  ill  if  you  are  not 
more  composed.' 

She  sat  down  on  the  sofa  by  him,  taking  his  hand  in 
hers,  and  I  flew  up  stairs,  forgetting  everything  else  in 
my  fear  for  Flo.  Neal  had  carried  her  up  in  his  arms 
and  laid  her  upon  the  lounge  in  mother's  room,  and  Meg 
was  bathing  her  head,  while  Bess  was  standing  in  an 
awed,  frightened  way,  behind  her  with  a  fan.  She  look- 
ed up  when  I  came  in,  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand. 


210  CLOVERLY. 

'  I  think  I  was  a  little  faint,'  she  said.  'I  have  tired 
myself  to-day,  but  I  couldn't  bear  to  stay  away  on  Mr. 
Aymar's  last  Sunday.  It  was  undertaking  too  much,  just 
as  mother  said.  Where  is  Neal  ? ' 

'  Down  stairs  with  mother.  He  looks  worse  than  you 
do  now,  Flo,'  I  said,  kneeling  down  by  her  side  and 
pressing  her  in  my  arms. 

'Poor  boy  !  Won't  you  tell  him  to  come  up  and  see 
me  now  ;  and,  Barbara,  tell  him  how  well  I  feel, — that  it 
was  only  fa'Jgue.  He  thinks  it  is  this  trouble  with  my 
heart.' 

'And  don't  you,  Flo  ?  '  I  whispered. 

'  I  don't  know,  d<-ar.  I've  sometimes  been  sorry  that  I 
talked  to  you  and  to  Neal  as  I  did  that  day.  It  makes 
his  life  a  long  agony/ 

'And  it  does  mine,  too,'  I  whispered.  'And  you  must 
see  how  mother  has  change.!.  My  heart  aches  for  her 
when  I  see  her  watching  you  and  yet  trying  to  be  so  sweet 
and  calua.' 

'  Never  mind  about  it  now — try  and  forget  that  we  ever 
spoke  of  it.  I  dare  say  it  is  very  unlikely.  Kiss  me, 
dear.' 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  soon  fell  into  a  liglit  slumber, 
while  I  sat  looking  at  the  white  face  with  a  sense  of  alarm 
and  pity  that  I  had  never  known  before.  And  presently 
Neal  came  softly  in  with  a  pitiful  smile,  put  on  at  the 
door  as  one  would  wear  a  mask.  She  opened  her  eyes  as 
he  bent  over  her,  and  held  out  her  arms  to  him,  and  I 
felt,  with  a  kind  of  half  jealous  agony,  that  she  was  pity- 
ing him  and  thinking  more  of  his  distress  than  ours,  al- 
though she  loved  us  all  dearly — so  dearly. 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 

INTO  THE  YAUjEY  OF  THE  SHADOW. 

Things  don't  come  of  themselves,  any  more  than  they 
come  before  we  need  them.  And  yet,  we  go  on  saying 
'  It  happened  so  and  so,'  '  Wasn't  it  queer  it  happened  so 
tc  me  ?  Mr.  Aymar's  coming  to  our  little  church,  and 
establishing  himself  not  otily  there  bat  in  the  hearts  of 
the  people,  was  one  of  the  happenings.  I  often  wonder- 
ed quietly  to  myself,  if  our  parting  under  the  trees  that 
September  night  could  be  called  by  that  name  too ; 
there  was  something  so  unlocked  for  and  strange  about 
it  all.  I,  of  all  people  iu  the  world  !  th&girl  that  he  had 
looked  on  with  more  aversion  and  coolness  than  any  one 
in  the  parish  !  But  his  good-bye,  so  tremulously  grave 
and  tender,  staid  by  me  for  days  and  days  afterward,  and 
the  more  I  thought  of  it  the  more  subtile  cheer  and 
strength  I  found  in  it.  His  '  God  bless  and  keep  you ' 
nestled  down  into  my  heart,  under  all  the  cares  and  anx- 
ieties that  came  to  me — for  I  did  have  cares  ;  and  so  did 
we  all,  as  a  family.  Father  and  mother  both  wore  anx- 
ious brows,  and  a  new  tone  of  tenderness  was  uncon- 
sciously taken  toward  Flo.  The  real  stress  and  strain  of 
this  anxiety  bore  upon  us  heavily,  although  there  was 
little  said  of  it ;  but  Flo  saw,  she  noticed  a  great  deal 
about  this  time. 

As  for  me,  everything  seemed  slipping  away;  and  yet  I 
had  to  follow  the  family  example,  and  hide  my  feelings 
as  best  I  could.  But  many  and  bitter  were  the  tears  that 
I  shed  when  I  was  alone,  with  no  one  to  see  ;  there  seem- 
ed to  be  so  many  things  to  cry  about,  and  tears  come  so 
easily  when  there  is  a  heart  pressure.  Beside,  I  begau  to 


212  CLOVERLY. 

ask  myself  seriously  ths  question  of  what  life  was  really 
going  to  be,  for  me.  I  thought  I  knew  pretty  well  al- 
ready what  it  wouldn't  be.  I  was  not  going  to  be  beauti- 
ful, or  accomplished,  or  even  good.  And  I  wanted  so 
much  to  be  all  three.  I  wouldn't  even  be  the  artist  that 
I  had  dreamed  about  being  ever  since  I  was  old  enough 
to  dream.  I  could  paint  a  tolerable  picture,  it  is  true — 
trees,  and  grass,  and  mountains,  and  a  sky  that  I  need 
not  have  labelled  'this  is  a  sky,'  as  the  artist  did  his  pig 
— and  yet  it  was  only  a  tolerable  picture  after  all.  I 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  only  meant  for  medi- 
ocrity, for  it  was  just  so  with  everything  that  I  undertook. 
Someone  must  fill  up  the  chinks  between  the  very  bright 
people  and  the  people  who  don't  know  anything  at  all. 
Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well— only  it  comes  hard  on  those  who 
are  born  with  longings.  Meg  said,  when  I  confessed  my 
despondency  to  her,  that  it  was  like  a  hummingbird  try- 
ing to  be  an  eagle,  and  forgetting  there  were  lots  of 
pretty  birds  between  the  two. 

I  do  not  know  what  I  looked  for.  I  cannot  tell  what  I 
expected  of  life.  I  only  knew,  as  the  days  went  by,  that 
it  was  all  a  disappointment  to  me,  and  I  hated  the  mid- 
dle places  just  as  cordially  as  I  had  always  hated  being 
the  middle  child.  I  could  not  express,  even  to  Meg, 
what  I  felt.  I  did  not  really  know,  myself.  How  can  we 
be  sure  there  are  valleys  and  abysses  until  we  go  down  into 
the  depths  and  find  out  for  ourselves,  and  how  can  we 
know  anything  about  the  mountains  until  we  have  gain- 
ed the  heights  ?  I  did  not  even  know  it  was  night  until 
I  began  to  feel  dimly  what  the  breaking  of  the  morning 
might  mean  to  me.  There  must  be  darkness,  but  there 
must  always  be  light  too.  Mine  came  after  a  season,  but 
the  darkness  staid  with  me  a  long  time  first. 


INTO  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW.       213 

Our  pleasant  evenings  seemed  ended.  Neal  monopo- 
lized Flo  more  and  more,  and  was  so  utterly  wretched, 
and  so  boyishly  gay,  by  fits  and  start-*,  that  there  was  no 
dependence  to  be  placed  upon  his  moods,  and  very  little 
comfort  to  receive  from  him  in  any  way.  He  went  out 
with  Flo  every  day  for  a  ride,  but  sometimes  she  would 
insist  upon  taking  up  her  old  duties  again,  making  Meg 
or  me  go  with  her.  We  could  never  bear  to  see  her  take 
her  little  packet  of  books,  or  her  basket,  and  the  tears 
would  struggle  up  into  my  eyes  when  I  heard  her  sweet 
voice  calling  for  some  of  us  to  go  with  her.  Could  it  be 
true  that  the  voice  was  to  be  stilled  soon,  that  the  foot- 
falls would  be  echoless,  except  as  they  sounded  to  us  out 
of  the  dreamy  past  ? 

We  had  a  new  clergyman  too,  in  Mr.  Aymar's  place  : 
a  man  from  the  East-,  a  Mr.  Price,  with  nothing  distinc- 
tive about  him  but  a  shock  of  black  hair  and  a  pair  of 
gold-rimmed  glasses,  behind  which  peered  two  kindly 
dark  eyes.  He  was  neither  young  nor  old,  neither  stupid 
nor  brilliant,  but  one  of  those  unfortunate  people  who 
seem  content  to  wheel  into  line  in  the  middle  places.  Per- 
haps that  was  the  reason  that  I  fraternized  with  him  ;  a 
thing  that  filled  the  whole  family  with  astonishment, 
since  as  I  could  not  tolerate  Mr.  Aymar,  they  took  it  for 
granted  I  was  a  sworn,  enemy  to  the  whole  profession. 
I  don't  tbink  Mr.  Price  could  ever  have  put  the  parish  in 
such  thorough  working  order  as  Mr.  Aymar,  but  now 
that  it  was  all  done,  perfectly  systematized,  and  in  good 
condition,  he  accepted  that  state  of  affairs  and  kept  things 
in  the  old  groove.  After  a  little  deliberation,  I  took  a 
class  in  Sunday-school,  put  my  name  down  on  the  lis«t  of 
district  visitors,  joined  the  parish  aid,  and  cooperated 
\\ithMegaad  Flo  in  aM  the  red  flannel  and  mutton  broth 


214  CLOVEKLY. 

concoctions  tbat  they  chose  to  get  up — '  To  relieve 
Flo,'  I  always  said,  when  I  was  questioned  ;  '  she  really 
wasn't  able  to  bear  so  much  care.'  And  every  one  believ- 
ed it  but  Bob.  He  made  interrogation  points  of  his  oye- 
brows,  gave  a  long  whistle,  and  asked  me  if  that  was  the 
penance  the  young  priest  imposed  upon  me  when  he 
went  away. 

Bob  could  be  very  disagreeable  at  times,  and  ask  the 
most  annoying  questions,  as  every  one  knew.  It  really 
wasn't  worth  while  to  mind  half  the  things  he  said  ;  and 
yet,  I  did. 

Early  in  October  there  came  lovely  days,  days  with  all 
the  beauty  of  the  spent  Summer  distilled  into  them, 
golden,  perfect  days,  when  one  feels  glad  and  happy  to 
live,  when  one  has  longiugs  and  yearnings,  desires  to  be 
lifted  up  into  the  greater  beauty  and  perfectness  tbat  lie 
beyond.  At  such  times  I  longed  to  be  religious,  and  live 
nearer  to  God.  It  seemed  so  easy — so  easy  when  I  was 
with  Flo.  For  I  was  with  her  a  great  deal  now,  even 
more  than  with  Meg,  who  in  her  strong,  capable  way, 
was  busy  witlj  mother  nearly  all  the  time,  helping  with 
the  Fall  sewing  and  other  house  hold  matters.  We  had 
been  making  Matty  Price's  fatherless  baby  a  set  of  new 
short  clothes,  to  take  his  first  walking  lessons  in,  and  Flo 
and  I  started  out  to  take  them  to  her.  Neal  had  gone  on 
a  fishing  expedition  with  some  of  the  craft  on  the  beach, 
and  she  was  quite  sure  that  she  could  walk  all  of  the  way 
without  being  tired.  Mother  finally  consented  to  our 
going,  and  after  dinner  we  made  up  our  package  and 
started. 

It  was  one  of  my  favorite  golden  days.  Not  a  cloud 
to  be  seen  anywhere,  but  a  soft  misty  glory  resting  upon 
everything.  There  were  a  few  dry  leaves  under  fout 


INTO  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW.       215 

and  gorgeous  colors  flung  on  every  tree,  but  it  seemed 
Summer  all  the  same.  We  walked  along  slowly,  with 
linked  arms,  down  the  garden  path  and  across  the  mead- 
ows back  of  the  house,  saying  very  little  to  each  other, 
until  suddenly  I  burst  out  with  '  I  wonder  if  anybody 
ever  felt  thoroughly  satisfied  with  life — with  one's  own 
life,  I  mean,  Flo  ?  I  think  perhaps  you  may,  and  father 
and  mother,  and  Nat  and  Meg — it  wouldn't  do  to  count 
on  any  other  member  of  the  family.  And  I  know  Neal 
iin't  satisfied,  even  though  he  has  you.  He  wants  some- 
thing more  than  that,  and  so  do  I.  Do  you  suppose  there 
ever  was  another  such  contradiction  in  life  as  I  am  ?  Do 
tell  me  what  to  do.  I'm  so  restless  and  tired  and  full  of 
longings.  For  one  thing  I  want  to  get  rid  of  Barbara 
Fox.  I'd  like  to  creep  out  of  myself,  as  a  snake  wriggles 
out  of  its  skin,  and  leave  it  behind  me.  I  don't  think  I'd 
take  up  anything  new,  but  I'd  just  like  to  go  back  nnd 
feel  as  I  did  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  mother  used  to 
gather  us  about  her  on  Sunday  evenings,  in  the  twilight, 
and  hear  us  sing  our  hymns,  and  then  cuddle  us  up  in 
her  arms  and  tell  Bible  stories.  How  sweet  and  real  and 
beautiful  it  seemed  then,  and  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I  had 
walked  such  a  long,  long  distance  away  from  it  all.  I 
wish  I  could  go  back  and  love  it  as  I  did  then.' 

'  That's  the  beauty  of  it,  dear — to  go  back  and  be  lit- 
tle children.  It  is  just  what  the  Bible  tells  us  to  do. 
"Except  ye  be  converted,  and  become  as  little  children," 
— there's  the  beauty  and  simplicity  of  the  whole  thing. 
We  are  not  told  to  do  much — only  so  little — ' 

'And  you  think  I'm  always  asking  for  Abana  and 
Pharpar.  Well,  I  don't  know  but  it  is  so.  Flo,  I  wish 
you'd  teach  me. ' 

'  I  teach  you  ?    Why  Barbara  dear,  I'm  only  learning 


216  CLOVERLY 

myself.     I  should  never  feel  like  teaching  when  I  have 
the  lesson  before  me  yet  to  learn.' 

'  Well,  show  me  your  lesson,  then,'  I  said  impatiently  ; 
;  let  me  see  it  with  your  eyes,  once.  I've  looked  long 
enough  for  it  with  my  own,  and  I  don't  see  that  I'm  any 
better  for  the  looking.' 

'  It's  a  lesson  of  love — I  think,  Barbara,'  she  said  slow- 
ly. '  If  I  ever  felt  any  doubt  of  it  I  would  only  have  to 
saj  over  the  words  "For  God  so  loved  the  world," — I 
have  to  stop  right  there  :  the  world,  not  part  of  it,  but 
the  whole,  you  and  me — I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell  just  how 
the  love  is  balanced.  I  only  know  the  source  from 
whence  it  flows — from  Him  who  is  the  very  essence  of 
love,  to  us,  and  back  to  Him  from  us  again — a  steady, 
tideless  stream  ;  and  then  the  giving  and  the  taking  is 
all  so  blended  together  that  I  don't  know  how  to  separate 
one  from  the  other — and  I  don't  believe  He  cares  to  have 
me  divide  it.  I  like  to  take  it  just  as  it  comes — full  and 
free ;  and  I  want  to  love  Him  most,  and  first  of  all,  be- 
cause He  first  loved  ine.' 

'I  know  the  words,'  I  said,  'I've  always  known  them, 
but  I  don't  feel  as  you  do  about  the  peace  and  the  rest. 
You  are  not  strong — see  how  you  are  panting  now— you 
are  weak  and  tired,  and  yet  there  is  a  something  in  your 
face  that  rests  one  to  look  at.  FJo,  the  love  makes  you 
really  happy.' 

'  Yes, '  she  said  softly.     '  God  has  been  so  good  to  me. ' 

'Exit  I  can't  think  of  His  goodness — I  think  of  my  sins.' 

1  Perhaps  I  ought  to  think  of  mine  oftener,'  she  said,  a 

grave  awed  look  coming  into   her  eyes.     '  But  when  I 

tbink  of  the  Sacrifice  once  paid  for  sin,  then  I  am  content 

to  leave  it  all  to  Him.     I  don't  pretend   to  understand 

everything  ;  and  I  wouldn't  try,  if  I  were  you.    It  will  bo 


INTO  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW.       217 

quite  enough  to  take  in  the  love  and  the  forgiveness. 
Above  all,  I  wouldn't  let  the  things  you  don't  understand 
perplex  you  about  those  yoa  do.  It's  a  miserable  way  to 
go  through  life — stopping  to  pick  up  mysteries  along  the 
way.  Beside,  Barbara  dear,  if  we  look  straight  ahead 
and  keep  our  eyes  fixed  above,  we  wont  see  or  know  any- 
thing about  the  troubles  that  He  under  our  feet.' 

She  looked  up  as  she  spoke  to  the  cliff,  under  which 
•we  were  that  moment  passing.  'Do  you  know,  dear,  I 
should  like  to  go  up  to  my  favorite  old  place  once  more — 
that  is,  before  the  Winter  comes,'  she  added  quickly,  inter- 
preting my  look  of  pain.  'I  have  not  been  there  since  we 
had  that  long,  pleasant  talk. ' 

'  Pleasant  ?   O  Flo  ! ' 

'  But  it  was  to  me,  dear.  It  rested  me  so  to  oe  under- 
stood. Yes,  it  was  pleasant,  and  I  want  to  go  up  there 
again.  Besides  the  talking  at  tha  cottage  will  tire  me 
more  than  the  walk  up.  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do.  Take 
the  package  down  to  Matty  Price  and  then  come  up  to 
me.  Itwi'l  be  a  good  chance  to  rest.' 

'It  is  a  good  idea.  I  will  go,  of  course  ;  and  it  will 
take  me  a  much  shorter  time  than  if  you  went  along. 
But  don't  go  all  the  way  up.' 

'  O  yes  ;  to  my  old  seat.  It  is  as  warm  as  Summer  to- 
day.' 

'Very  well ;  then  lean  on  me,  and  take  it  slowly.' 

We  took  the  long  way  around  instead  of  climbing  up 
the  rocks,  stopping  now  and  again  to  rest  and  take  views, 
and  then  going  back  to  our  little,  speculative,  religious 
t  .Ik,  that  Flo  always  liked  to  enter  into  when  we  were 
alone.  When  we  reached  the  top,  the  entrance  of  the 
long  shaded  walk,  she  would  not  let  me  go  any  further 
with.  her. 

\ 


218  CLOYERLY. 

'  Go  on  down  to  the  cottage  now,'  she  said,  '  and  I  will 
stop  here  and  rest.  I  shall  feel  quite  strong  for  the  walk 
home.  And  try  on  the  little  dress,  Barbara,  and  see  if  it 
will  do.  You  need  not  tell  Matty  that  I  came  so  near. 
She  may  feel  hurt.  Good-bye.' 

She  turned  away  from  me  and  walked  toward  the  cliff, 
while  I  went  down,  only  stopping  once  to  turn  around 
and  look  at  her  as  she  walked  under  the  arching  trees, 
her  long  gray  dress  sweeping  over  the  grass,  her  hands 
dropped  by  her  side  and  her  head  slightly  bent,  as  if  she 
were  indeed  walking  up  the  great  aisle  of  a  Cathedral, 
and  felt  an  invisible  Presence  near.  As  I  paused  that 
instant,  she  came  to  the  turn,  looked  back,  waved  her 
hand,  called  'Come  up  soon,' and  wrapping  her  light 
shawl  about  her,  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  cedar  tree, 
while  I  scrambled  down  the  rocks  on  the  other  side  and 
gained  the  beach. 

I  found  Matty  sitting  on  the  doorstep,  in  the  sun,  with 
her  sewing  on  her  lap  and  her  baby  tied  in  a  low  chair 
by  her  side,  playing  with  some  bright  colored  yarn. 
Matty  and  I  had  become  great  friends  since  Mr.  Aymar's 
departure,  and  the  baby  seemed  to  know  instinctively 
that  I  always  had  something  for  him,  for  he  held  up  his 
fat  hands,  laughing  and  crowing  loudly,  as  I  unfolded 
the  white  dress  with  the  gay  chintz  flowers  dotting  it, 
and  the  crimson  flannel  sack  that  Flo  had  scalloped. 
Matty's  sorrowful  face  grew  bright  as  I  gave  her  Flo's 
message.  She  was  to  bring  the  baby  to  church  the  next 
Sunday  morning,  for  Baptism.  'And  I  am  to  be  his  god- 
mother, you  understand,  Matty.' 

'  Yes,  Miss,'  responded  Matty ;  '  but  I  wish  I'd  ha'  had 
it  done  afore  Mr.  Aymar  weut  away.  I'm  kind  o'  sliy  of 


INTO  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW.       219 

that  Mr.  Price  and  his  gold  glasses,  and  Fm  afraid  the 
baby '11  cry.' 

'The  baby  wont  do  anything  of  the  kind,'  said  L 
'  He'll  be  on  his  best  behavior,  see  if  he  isn't.  And  let 
him  wear  his  nice  long  white  frock  just  once  more  before 
you  put  on  these  short  clothes.' 

'  He'll  kick  powerful  in  it,  I'm  afraid.  He  hates  any- 
thing about  his  feet.' 

'O  no ;  don't  stuff  such  ideas  into  his  head.  He  looks 
uncommonly  wise,  Matty,  as  if  he  understood  all  about 
it.  And  Mr.  Price  will  be  here  to  see  you,  to-morrow. 
Make  him  hold  the  baby  a  little,  just  to  get  used  to 
him.' 

'  Law,  Miss ! '  said  Matty,  '  I'd  be  scairt  to  death  to 
ask  him.  Now  if  it  was  Mr.  Ay  mar  he'd  take  him  up  so 
kind  o'  easy  and  gentle  like  he'd  never  care  nothing 
about  the  water.  He  had  such  a  winnin'  sort  a  way 
with  him.  He  wanted  me  to  have  it  done  right  off,  you 
know,  and  I  wish  now  I  had.  But  I  didn't  think  of 
nothin'  then  but  my  poor  Tom  down  in  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  yonder.  Them  was  hard  days,  Miss,  but  some- 
how the  Lord  seemed  to  lead  me  right  out  of  it.  I'd  ha» 
grieved  myself  to  death  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  minis- 
ter, then.  And  now  I  feel  so  kind  o'  strange,  and  half 
afraid  of  Mr.  Price.' 

'  O  now  that's  too  bad,  Matty,  and  he  is  so  good.' 

'  Not  like  Mr.  Aymar,  Miss.  I  wouldn't  ha'  had  to  ask 
him  to  make  friends  with  b  by.  But  there  now — that's 
a  fact — we  never  had  to  ask  nothin'  of  him.  He  allers 
knew  before  the  askin'.  Pears  to  me  there  never  was 
such  another  man.' 

'  That's  very  evident,'  I  said  laughing ;  'but  I  think  I 
like  Mr.  Price.' 


220  CLOVBKLY. 

I  tossed  up  the  baby,  settled  him  in  his  chair  with  his 
snarl  of  red  yarn,  said  good-bye  to  Matty,  and  huriird 
back  to  Flo.  I  saw  her  long  before  I  could  speak  to  her, 
sitting  just  as  I  had  left  her,  with  her  hands  dropped 
carelessly  in  her  lap. 

'  Sitting  here  still  ?  '  I  called  out  as  I  drew  near.  '  But 
you  never  wearied  of  the  view.  I  hurried  just  as  fast  as 
I  could,  and  I'm  tired  as  I  can  be.' 

Still  she  did  not  stir. 

'Flo, 'I  said,  approaching  nearer,  '  Flo,  you  had  bet- 
ter g.-t  up.  You  will  take  cold  it'  you  fall  asleep  here, 
you  careless  girl. ' 

Somehow  the  silence  was  so  unbroken,  it  was  appal- 
ling. Not  a  leaf  stirred,  or  a  sound  of  anything  was 
heard  but  the  wash  of  the  waves  below,  and  my  voice 
seemed  all  the  louder  and  more  heartless  in  its  jesting 
raillery,  because  I  received  no  answer. 

For  Flo  had  not  moved,  and  her  hands,  dropped  list- 
lessly in  her  lap,  looked  whiter  and  more  slender  than 
ever  on  her  dark  dress.  I  stood  looking  a  moment  down 
upon  her,  with  an  awful  shuddering  fear  creeping  over 
me,  it  was  so  still  and  lonely  out  there  on  the  cliff.  '  I 
had  always  a  horror  of  being  alone,'  I  said  to  myself  with 
a  subtile  feeling  of  loneliness,  even  with  Flo  sitting  there 
so  quietly. 

'  Flo  ! '  I  called,  '  you  must  not  sleep.  Wake  up,  dear, 
wake  up ! ' 

Still  no  answer  ;  not  a  movement,  not  a  sound,  except 
the  low  dreary  wash  of  the  waves  below. 

I  came  up  to  her  softly,  with  a  vague  sense  of  coming 
anguish.  She  leaned  against  the  trunk  of  the  old  cedar, 
her  eyes  turned  seaward  with,  a  dull  heavy  stare,  and 
just  at  that  moment — as  it  had  once  before  whan  we  were 


INIO  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW.       221 

sitting  there  ind  Flo  had  told  me  the  one  secret  of  her 
life — out  flashed  a  white  sail,  like  a  beckoning  band  from 
the  mystery  of  sea  and  sky,  and  the  same  old  thought 
came  back  to  me  with  added  pain,  What  if  she  were  to 
f  ollow  ? 

I  leaned  forward,  touching  her  shoulder.  '  Flo  !  Flo  ! ' 
I  called  in  agony,  '  don't  sit  so  still.  Speak  to  me  !  Do 
speak  to  me,  once. ' 

I  lifted  her  hands ;  they  were  cold  and  lifeless,  and 
I  let  them  drop  back  in  her  lap  again  with  a  wild 
scream  for  '  Mother  !  Meg  ! '  knowing  in  my  helpless- 
ness that  they  could  not  hear,  and  that  even  Flo  had 
stolen  away  out  of  sound  of  my  voice.  Her  gaze  was 
fixed  on  what  was  now  a  mystery  no  longer.  Everything 
must  be  plain  and  clear  to  those  eyes  of  inquiry,  while  a 
sort  of  glad,  new  surprise,  almost  formed  her  lips  into  a 
smile. 

I  rushed  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and  gave  one  hurried 
glance  around.  The  sound  of  voices  and  the  careless 
laugh  of  a  child  floated  up  to  me.  Just  below  a  boat  had 
been  drawn  up  on  the  sand,  and  bare-legged  children 
clambered  in  and  out,  while  two  or  three  fishermen  stood 
by,  lifting  out  lines  and  fish.  I  knew  the  tall  broad 
shouldered  fellow  with  his  hand  upon  the  basket,  and 
I  called  frantically  '  Neal  !  O  Neal !  Come !  come, 
help. ' 

He  looked  up,  took  off  his  cap,  and  waved  it  about  his 
head  as  he  sprang  up  the  steps  worn  in  the  ledges  of  the 
rock. 

It  only  seemed  a  moment — it  was  all  so  sudden,  so  soon 
over;  and  then  I  saw  him  kneeling  on  the  grass  with  one 
of  Flo's  slender  hands  in  his,  and  her  beautiful  head,  like 
a  drooped  lily,  resting  on  his  shoulder. 


222  CLOVERLY. 

'My  darling,'  lie  sobbed,  'coy  darliog  !  Gone  like  a 
dream. ' 

And  then  I  knew  for  a  certainty  that  Flo  had  passed 
over  that  dark  river  which  she  had  never  dreaded  to 
cross,  and  was  safe  in  the  beautiful  paradise  of  God. 

Some  of  the  fishermen,  alarmed  by  my  cry,  had  hurried 
up  to  us,  and  a  woman  and  one  or  two  children  were  with 
them.  I  did  not  know  what  they  wanted,  or  what  they 
were  saying.  I  saw  them  dash  water  upon  Flo's  face  and 
hands,  and  then  shake  their  heads  and  whisper  to  one 
another,  and  the  woman  threw  her  own  black  cloak  about 
her,  and  Neal — Neal  himself — and  one  of  the  fishermen 
helped  to  carry  her  across  the  fields,  and  down  to  the 
cottage,  where  mother  sat  waiting  for  her  childrem.  O 
what  a  coming  home  for  us  all  ! 

I  do  not  know  how  I  ever  reached  it.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  I  must  have  walked  there  in  a  sort  of  stupeljiag 
trance,  for  I  dimly  remember  somebody  putting  my  hand 
through  his  arm,  and  holding  me  up,  sometimes  even 
guiding  my  steps — it  was  somebody  strong  and  tender, 
but  I  never  knew  who  it  was.  On  the  porch  I  met  Meg, 
looking  with  surprise  and  wonder  at  me,  as  we  came  slow- 
ly up  the  steps.  'O  Meg,'  I  said,  and  my  voice  sound- 
ed hollow  and  far  away  even  to  me,  '  O  Meg,  she  will 
never,  never  wake  up,  I  fear,'  and  then  I  fell  forward  on 
the  threshold  and  knew  nothing  more. 


CHAPTEE  XVin. 

THE  DAKKNESS   OF  THE  NIGHT. 

Yes,  it  was  all  true.  "We  were  only  five  in  number  now. 
Flo  had  gone  away  from  us  all,  gone  just  as  quietly  and 
peacefully  as  she  had  lived. 

The  doctor  came  in  softly,  and  then  went  away  again. 
Some  one  had  summoned  him,  though  why,  we  could  not 
tell.  She  had  been  dead  some  time,  he  said,  but  it  must 
have  been  without  struggle  or  pain.  Looking  out  at  that 
shadowed  mystery  beyond  the  sea,  the  veil  had  been 
lifted,  and  the  secrets  of  the  world  unfolded  to  her. 
Eternity  with  its  measureless  depths  had  begun. 

Neal  kept  watch  in  the  silent  rooms  below.  The  whole 
house  was  hushed — awed  into  silence.  We  spoke  in 
wbispers,  as  if  our  voices  could  have  disturbed  the  beau- 
tiful presence,  that  made  the  whole  house  sacred  ;  and 
mother,  who  should  have  been-  the  one  most  unnerved, 
was  almost  as  still  and  calm  as  Flo. 

There,  in  the  pleasant,  sunny  parlor,  she  lay  dead. 
And  all  the  bright  sunshine  was  shut  out  with  her.  Cold, 
dark,  silent.  On  the  coffin  and  about  the  floor  lay  flow- 
ers, great  starlike  carnations,  lilies  and  roses.  The  room 
was  heavy  with  the  dead  sweetness.  I  stole  in  there 
once  alone,  only  once.  I  wanted  to  see  if  it  were  real — 
if  it  could  be  Flo — or  if  it  were  all  a  bitter  dream.  , 

I  stood  by  the  coffin  and  looked  down  upon  the  statue 
/  there.  Frozen  into  silence,  dumb  in  its  awful,  imper- 
turbable cairn.  Deaf  ears,  closed  eyes,  hands  folded  and 
resting  now  from  their  life  work.  This  was  not  Flo. 

O  if  she  could  speak,  if  she  could  tell  what  she  had 


224  CLOVEIILY. 

seen  in  that  one  strange  moment  between  the  sleeping 
and  the  waking.'  She  was  changed  now — had  she  chang- 
ed there  where  she  was  tarrying  ?  How  was  it  now  with 
her  in  that  wider  life,  that  perfect  abiding  in  the  unveil- 
ed glory  ?  Was  her  love  for  us  any  the  less  since  she 
had  set  out  on  that  mysterious  journey  ?  or  did  she  look 
back  upon  us  pityingly,  yearningly,  longing  to  lift  usup  ? 

Still  silence  !  silence  with  her,  while  I  was  weeping 
such  bitter  tears.  How  could  she  lie  so  grandly  quiet 
when  our  hearts  were  breaking  ?  Only  a  few  hours  be- 
fore she  had  been  speaking  to  me.  She  stood  with  a 
smile  upon  her  lips  in  the  broad  sunlight,  waving  her 
hand,  and  saying  'Come  up  soon.'  Was  "the  sunlight 
any  broader  and  fuller  in  that  new  country  to  which  she 
had  journeyed  so  swiftly  ?  And  shall  I  ever  reach  it,  and 
see  her  again  ?  Will  that  other  world  seeni  more  familiar 
and  dear  since  she  is  there  ?  Is  that  where  she  would 
lead  me  now,  by  the  remembrance  of  her  sweet  words  of 
counsel  ? — into  the  very  freshness  of  the  day  gleam,  into 
the  very  joy  of  the  morning,  into  the  fall  glory  of  the 
sunlight,  into  the  peace  and  hush  of  the  perfect  day  ? 
Perhaps  it  was  Christ  Himself  leading  us  up  to  Him, 
through  this  woe.  I  tried  to  put  out  my  hands  in  the 
darkness  and  place  them  in  His,  but  I  could  not  see — not 
till  afterward,  long  afterward. 

We  put  her  room  in  order.  The  empty  dresses  were 
folded  and  laid  away.  And  yet  her  real  presence 
was  still  there.  Everything  was  as  she  had  left  it, — the 
tiny  blue  vases  on  the  mantle  with  a  few  bright  colored 
leaves  and  a  trailing  fern  vine  around  them,  the  frosh 
bouquet  on  the  dressing-table,  the  work-stand  drawa  up 
beaide  the  sewing  chair  in  the  pleasant  window,  looking 
out  over  the  meadows  and  the  sea,  the  basket  with  the 


THE  DARKNESS  OF  THE  NIGHT.          225 

work  lift  in  it,  ord  rly  and  neat,  as  if  she  had  made  it 
up  to  keep.  On  the  table  were  her  favorite  books,  her 
little  inlaid  writing-desk  that  Neal  had  given  her,  her 
Bible,  the  pretty,  blue  velvet  Prayer  Book  with  silver 
clasps,  and  the  little  marker  with  silver  crosses  between 
the  leaves.  Was  it  to  show  us  her  last  reading  ?  I  open- 
ed to  the  page  and  saw  '  Behold,  I  show  you  a  mystery  ; 
we  shall  not  all  sleep,  but  we  sha'.l  all  be  changed,  in  a 
moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  at  the  last  trump,  for 
the  trumpet  shall  sound,  and  the  dead  shall  be  raised  in- 
corruptible, and  we  shill  be  changed.'  What  a  flash  of 
blinding  glory  came  to  me  in  that  one  glimpse  of  resur- 
rection. It  was  so  stra-ige  I  had  never  comprehended 
the  words  before. 

After  this,  as  the  days  went  on,  I  began  to  feel  I 
should  not  always  be  bUnd ;  one  day  my  eyes  might  be 
touched,  and  I  too  should  see,  as  I  had  never  seen  before  ! 
Would  the  brightness  be  too  great  for  me  to  bear  ? 

Bess  would  not  sleep  alone  in  the  pretty  room  that  we 
dusted  carefully  every  day,  and  kept  as  dainty  and  bright 
as  in  Flo's  lifetime.  We  had  a  sm  ill  bed  put  up  for  her 
with  us,  but  we  still  kept  the  doors  open  between.  Often, 
at  night,  I  lay  with  my  eyes  wide  open,  laoking  through 
the  space,  and  seeing  the  stars  glimmer  beyond  the  win- 
dow panes.  Sometimes  I  watched  the  moon  creep  around 
and  lie  white  and  ghostlike  on  the  floor,  as  if  it  were 
keeping  guard  around  that  empty  bed.  I  often  heard 
poor  little  Bess  crying  softly  to  herself,  after  the  lights 
were  out  and  the  house  was  still,  and  I  would  clasp  Meg 
closer  in  my  arms,  and  press  her  cheek  agiinat  mine, 
only  to  find  it  wet  with  tears  ;  and  then  I  knew  that  she 
too  had  been  lying  awake  and  thinking. 

We  cannot,  any  of  us,  rest  as  we  used.     And  when  the 


226  CLOVE RLY. 

night  surges  around  us  like  a  bladi,  tangible  cloud,  I 
think  of  the  horror  ami  the  darkness  of  the  silent  grave, 
•where  Flo  is  sleeping,  with  a  shudder.  It  is  so  hard  to 
think  of  our  beautiful  sister  out  in  the  night  and  the  dew 
all  alone.  I  stretch  oat  my  arms  and  embrace  the  aw- 
ful void.  The  tears  rain  down  my  cheeks.  And  then  I 
hear  little  Bass  choking  back  her  sobs  and  whispering 
'  Flo,  I  want  you  !  I  want  you  ! '  And  I  creep  over  into 
her  bed  and  hush  her  to  sleep,  mingling  my  tears  with 
hers,  just  as  if  the  woe  ware  fresh  and  new,  and  not  grow- 
ing older  and  older  every  day.  And  does  Flo  age  with 
it  too  ?  I  often  ask  myself  the  quastion — If  I  ever 
reach  her  and  see  her  again,  will  she  wear  that  same 
sweet  smile  of  tender,  patient  trust,  or  will  she  be  older, 
graver,  and  wiser,  than  when  sha  went  away  ?  Does  the 
life  in  that  beaxitiful  country  always  keep  our  loved 
ones  for  us  immortally  young  ?  • 

I  had  a  dream  of  her,  one  night.  I  dreamed  of  such  a 
beautiful  country,  and  a  wood  through  which  I  passed, 
full  of  cool  shadows  and  glancing  sunlight,  and  wild  flow- 
ers growing  on  the  mossy  banks.  Overhead  the  green 
boughs  interlaced  and  arched,  and  within  the  cool  shade 
walkeJ  Flo,  all  dressed  in  white,  the  long  loose  robe  fall- 
ing about  her  like  a  veil  of  mist,  her  golden  hair  banded 
above  her  forehead,  just  as  she  wore  it  in  her  lifetime. 
Her  head  was  bent,  her  hands  folded  upon  her  bosom, 
the  same  sweet  smile  upon  her  face  that  I  had  seen  there 
last,  when  she  stood  iu  the  green  aisles  of  oar  favorite 
walk  and  bade  me  'Come  up  soon.'  And  when  she  saw 
me  sha  smiled,  and  said  '  Have  you  come  to  gather  flow- 
ers with  me,  dear?  See,  I  will  pick  them  for  you.' 
And  she  gathered  great  clusters  of  roses,  the  purest  white, 
and  trained  them  into  a  garland  for  my  head,  smiling 


THE    DARKNKSS    OF   THE    NIGHT.  Z2( 

upon  me  all  the  time,  but  never  say  incr  another  word.  And 
my  heart  was  so  full  of  joy  at  seeing  her  again,  that  I  too 
was  dumb.  But  when  the  crown  was  woven  and  I  tried  to 
place  it  upon  my  head,  th  3  thorns  pierced  my  hand  so 
the  blood  came  and  dyed  the  pure  white  flowers  a  deep 
red  ;  and  Flo  stooped  down  and  took  my  bleeding  hands 
in  hers,  and  cried  '  O  my  darling  !  my  darling  !  so  Christ 
was  wounded  for  us  with  thorns.' 

And  then  I  woke  with  a  start  and  cry  of  fear,  and  the 
moonlight  was  streaming  iu  all  over  the  carpet  in  a  broad 
circle  of  quivering  light,  and  I  was  in  my  own  bed,  and 
the  room  was  so  still,  save  for  Meg's  low  breathing,  and 
I  closed  my  eyes  and  fell  asleep,  with  the  words  Flo  had 
spoken  to  me  in  my  dream,  coming  back  to  me  again 
and  again,  '  O  my  darling !  my  darling !  so  Christ  was 
wounded  for  us  with  thorns.' 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   PBOMISE  OF  THE  DAWN. 

It  was  a  dull  day  in  late  Autumn  when  Neal  Hunting- 
ton  came  up  to  pay  us  a  last  visit  and  say  good-bye. 

The  beautiful  Summer  had  vanished ;  indeed,  all  beau- 
tiful things  had  seemingly  been  swept  out  of  our  lives 
since  Flo  had  no  longer  a  part  in  them  here.  The  skies 
were  leaden,  the  wind  howled  iu  dreary  gusts,  and  the 
great  waves  dashed  in  upon  the  rocks  with  a  hoarse  cry 
that  must  have  given  many  a  woman  on  the  beach  a 
heart-achev  I  had  gone  down  there  among  the  people, 
who  now  that  Flo  was  gone,  seemed  very  near  to  me.  It 
was  almost  like  a  trust  that  she  had  left,  and  I  took  up 
the  work  right  willingly,  and  found  it  not  only  a  pleas- 
ure but  a  relief.  It  seemed  to  lift  me  for  a  time  out  of 
the  heavy  stupor  of  my  grief.  Matty  Price  and  her  baby 
boy  had  been,  perhaps,  the  most  interesting  to  me,  of  all 
the  Church  poor,  and  this  particular  morning  I  had  been 
down  taking  care  of  the  child,  while  she  had  gone  up  to 
Mrs.  Desmonds  for  work.  As  I  came  back  along  the 
rough  country  road,  I  thought  how  different  everything 
looked  since  I  had  taken  a  wider  range  of  action.  All 
unknown  to  myself,  I  had  discovered  a  new  meaning  in 
life — people  and  things  were  not  what  I  had  thought 
them.  The  children  in  the  mission  school  had  taught  me 
much.  Indeed,  I  think  I  never  understood  before,  the 
full  meaning  of  the  words  '  Except  ye  become  as  little 
children. '  With  a  memory  of  that  text  before  me,  I  tried 
to  study  out  their  thoughts,  hopes,  plans,  even  their 
little  sports  and  games,  to  get  at  the  underlying  princi- 


THE   PROMISE    OF    THE    DA\VNT. 

pie  of  simple  faith  and  trust.  Such  work  grew  after  a 
time  to  be  a  kind  of  comfort  to  me.  I  did  not  dawdle 
over  my  impossible  pictures  as  much  as  formerly ;  only 
at  rare  intervals  did  I  have  leisure  for  painting  at  all, 
there  was  so  much  to  be  done,  and  there  were  so  few 
hands.  I  understood  now  what  it  was  to  go  in  unto  the 
harvest  and  find  the  laborers  few.  Many  a  time  Mr. 
Price  grew  discouraged.  I  often  wondered  why  Mr.  Ay- 
mar  had  not  become  utterly  so. 

I  walked  briskly  along  in  the  fresh  strong  air,  turning 
over  these  new  thoughts  in  my  mind,  when  I  saw  Neal 
Huntington  coming  down  the  path  leading  from  the 
house.  He  stopped  at  the  sound  of  my  rapid  footsteps, 
waited  until  I  came  up,  and  then  drawing  my  hand  with- 
in his  arm,  walked  with  me  toward  the  house. 

Neal  hid  never  been  away  from  the  village  since  Flo's 
death,  and  was  with  us  every  day  as  constantly  as  if  we 
were  hia  sisters  in  reality.  We  held  our  sorrow  in  com- 
mon and  in  silence,  each  bearing  it  bravely  and  still.  I 
had  not  thought  of  his  leaving  us,  and  it  gave  me  a  rude 
shock  when  he  began  abruptly — 

'I  am  going  away.  And  I  have  been  saying  good- 
bye to  them  all.  On  such  days  as  these,  I  feel  as  if  life 
were  not  worth  the  keeping,  and  the  sooner  I  get  away 
the  better.  To  look  at  the  leaden  sky  and  hear  the  roar 
of  the  waves,  is  enough  to  put  a  sane  man  in  the' asylum 
for  life.  So  I  am  going  away.  Barbara,  I  shall  not  stay 
another  day.' 

'  That  is  what  a  man  can  do  so  easily,'  I  said  with  a 
sharp  pang  ;  '  go  away  and  forget.  The  hardest  lot  of  all 
falls  to  us  women,  who  stay  at  home  and  weep.' 

'  Barbara,  you  are  cruel ! '  he  said,  turning  his  tear 
stained  face  for  an  instant  to  mine.  '  Meg  and  Bess  did 


230  CLOVEULY. 

not  part  from  me  so,  and  your  dear  mother  was  more 
kind  and  tender  than  all. ' 

It  had  been  a  trial,  then,  to  say  good-bye  to  mother. 
He  had  been  crying  in  spite  of  his  manliness,  for  of  this 
sorrow  he  had  never  been  able  to  speak  manfully. 

'O  forgive  me,  Neal,' I  said  repentantly.  'It  is  so 
hard  for  us  to  bear,  and  for  the  moment  it  seemed  so 
easy  for  you  to  go  away  and  get  rid  of  it  all.  And  every 
day  we  have  to  take  up  our  work — work  that  she  always 
helped  us  with — and  sit  over  it,  trying  to  chat  as  we 
used,  and  sing  the  familiar  little  tunes  that  we  would 
hum  over  together  ;  trying  our  best  to  count  the  weary 
days  for  less  than  they  are,  and  never  giving  ourselves 
time  to  reckon  up  our  cares.  But  you  don't  know — how 
should  you  ? — how  our  hearts  sicken  under  it  all.'  And 
my  eyes  were  dry  and  tearless,  while  his  were  full  of 
blinding  tears. 

'  Not  know  ? '  he  repeated  after  me  in  a  choking  voice, 
'  not  know,  when  I  loved  her  better  than  my  own  life  ? 
O  Barbara !  Barbara !  next  to  the  joy  of  heaven  is  the 
thought  of  meeting  her  again. ' 

'And  you  will  see  her  just  as  she  was  when  she  was 
with  us,  Neal,  won't  you  ? '  I  asked  with  a  sort  of  ap^ 
pealing  agony,  longing  to  know  what  his  faith  had  done 
for  him.  'Do  you  think  that  she  will  be  changed  ?  that 
she  will  be  so  beautiful  that  we  will  not  know  her,  and 
so  far  away,  and  so  much  above  us  that  she  will  not  re- 
member how  she  loved  us  here  ?  O  Neal,  I  wish  we 
knew  ! ' 

'  I  think  we  may  trust  God  for  all  that — can't  we,  dear  ?' 
he  sanl.  'He  wouldn't  give  us  almost  heaven  here,  if  it 
Wasn't  to  show  us  what  it  may  be  afterward.' 

And  yet  all  the  time  his  eyes  were  dim  with  tears.     I 


THE   PROMISE   OF    THE   DAWN.  231 

looked  at  him  with  wistful  envy.  How  was  it  that  he  and 
Flo  could  lay  hold  of  such  certainty  of  faith  ? — and 
should  I  ever  learn  the  lesson  too  ? 

We  walked  slowly  up  to  the  house  without  another 
word.  When  we  reached  the  piazza,  he  stopped. 

'  I  can't  go  in  again,'  he  said  ;  '  it  was  hard  enough  to 
say  good-bye  once,  without  attempting  it  over  again. 
You'll  all  write  to  me,  won't  you  ?  And  when  it  is  Sum- 
mer, I  shall  come  again.  Perhaps  I  can  bear  it  better 
then.  But  I  want  to  hear  from  you  regularly  ;  and  you 
must  tell  me  every  little  thing — I  shall  feel  such  an  inter- 
est in  your  work,  and  the  church,  and  school,  and  even 
in  Bessie's  kittens.  Your  mother  is  going  to  write  to  me 
every  month,  but  I  want  you  girls  to  write  between  times. 
You  won't  forget  me  ?  ' 

'  No,  we  will  none  of  us  forget  you,  Neal ;  you  have 
made  yourself  already  as  dear  as  a  brother.  And  I  wont 
forget  what  you  have  said  to  me,  to-day — it  will  do  me 
good  to  remember,  and  perhaps  some  time  I  shall  think 
of  Flo  as  you  do.  I  am  sure  I  am  trying  hard  enough  to 
understand. ' 

'  We  are  both  learning  lessons,  Barbara, '  he  said.  '  We 
are  ia  the  alphabet  now,  but  it  wont  do  to  stop  short 
there.  We  have  much  to  learn  before  we  can  have  the 
comfort  of  the  full  reading.  And  now,  good-bye,  good- 
bye.' 

He  walked  swiftly  away  without  once  turning  to  look 
back,  and  I  opened  the  door  and  went  in  to  all  the  warmth 
and  brightness  gathered  in  the  snug  parlor.  In  the  wide 
chimney  a  ruddy  fire  leaped  and  blazed.  Mother  sat 
before  it  in  her  little  rocker,  her  basket  of  work  upon  her 
lap,  but  her  hands  were  idle,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  fire  as  if  she  were  lost  in  thought.  Perhaps  it 


232  CLOVEBLY. 

had  been  a  trial  to  her  to  say  good-bye  to  Neal,  but  no 
one  would  ever  know,  and  nothing  ever  seemed  hard  to 
her — we  could  only  guess  at  it  all.  Meg  was  winding 
crimson  worsted  for  the  Dorcas  knitting,  and  Bess,  with 
red  eyes,  was  demurely  dressing  a  large  doll.  The  cat 
with  her  two  kittens,  now  nearly  as  large  as  herself,  was 
curled  up  on  the  old  velvet  rug,  making  the  most  of  the 
warmth  and  the  blaze. 

I  looked  around  with  full  eyes  and  a  choking  sensation 
in  my  throat. 

Meg  looked  up  and  said  Did  you  see  Neal  ?  '  And 
I  answered  '  Yes  ;  he  walked  part  of  the  way  home  with 
me,'  and  then  softly  closed  the  door. 

It  seemed  hard,  but  we  were  all — even  to  mother—  - 
trying  to  do  without  Flo,  trying  our  very  best  to  forget. 
Was  it  right  ?  It  makes  one  sad  sometimes,  to  think 
that  in  this  commonplace  world  there  is  so  little  time 
left  for  remembrance.  Everything  we  love  may  die,  but 
the  machinery  of  life  goes  on  just  the  same.  We  eat, 
we  drink,  we  sleep,  we  fold  our  hands  and  pray,  we  ask 
to  be  resigned  to  God's  will,  and  straightway  take  up 
our  life  as  it  dropped  from  our  hands  in  the  first  shock 
of  our  woe.  Is  that  what  resignation  means,  or  is  it  for- 
getfulness  ?  And  yet  if  we  did  not  forget,  how  could  we 
live  ?  How  could  we  bear  the  strain  and  weight  of  the 
anguish,  if  it  were  kept  forever  fresh  and  green  ?  Yes, 
we  were  all  forgetting — God  graciously  gave  us  power  to 
do  so.  Mother  and  Meg  had  taken  up  their  home  duties 
.  again,  Neal  was  going  away,  and  even  Bess  was  com- 
forted with  her  doll  and  kittens.  Sometimes  her  voice 
rung  out  in  a  burst  of  fresh,  childish  laughter,  but  she 
would  check  herself  almost  instantly  and  say  '  O  I  for- 
got.' Then  mother  always  smiled,  patted  her  head,  and 


THE    PROMISE    OF   THE    DAWN.  233 

said  '  Laugh  on,  little  one.  It  is  not  good  for  the  young 
to  be  sad,  and  our  darling  is  happy — why  should  not  we 
be  happy  too  ?  God  sends  us  blessings  every  day,  but 
His  greatest  blessing,  I  think,  is  the  healing  and  the  peace 
that  He  gives  when  our  hearts  are  nearly  breaking. ' 

This  was  not  forget  fulness.  But  all  the  same  it  was 
hard  to-day  to  have  Neal  go  away  ;  to  come  home  to  the 
bright,  cheery  parlor,  and  see  the  work  going  on  as  it 
used  and  Flo  not  there — it  ~was].ikepu/ting  her  away  ;  and 
yet  how  could  she  be  away,  really — except  in  a  joy  we 
could  not  fathom. 

I  went  up  to  my  own  room  and  stood  by  the  window 
looking  out.  It  was  well  that  the  house  was  bright,  for 
it  was  desolate  enough  without.  The  lawn  and  garden 
paths  were  strewed  with  dead  and  whirling  leaves  ;  only 
the  dahlias  and  chrysanthemums  held  up  their  heads 
and  bloomed,  the  gorgeous  colors  making  all  else  seem 
even  more  de  solate  and  dead.  Down  at  the  end  of  the 
lane,  where  a  few  short  weeks  before  it  had  been  a  per- 
fect bower  of  green,  the  trees  tossed  their  bare  branches 
in  the  wind,  and  under  them  I  could  see  Neal,  his  head 
bent,  his  arms  folded,  as  he  hurried  along  the  road, 
treading  the  dried  leaves  fiercely  under  foot,  just  as  if  he 
were  treading  out  all  the  joys  and  hopes  of  a  life  that 
might  have  been  so  full. 

Suddenly  my  mind  went  back  to  that  other  good-bye, 
uttered  when  those  leaves  were  fresh  and  green,  and  the 
boughs  bent  down  to  hide  us  with  their  soft,  cool  shade. 
I  went  back  to  that  time,  straying  idly  and  carelessly 
along  through  the  lane  to  the  gate,  dropping  on  the  low 
bench,  looking  not  at  him  but  at  the  sunset  just  fading 
away  between  the  trees.  Again  I  felt  two  hands  laid  up- 
on my  head,  smoothing  away  the  hair  from  my  forehead, 


234  CLOVERLY. 

and  then  a  kiss,  soft  and  tremulous  as  a  -woman's,  linger- 
ed there.  Again  I  heard  the  words  '  God  bless  and  keep 
you  '  ;  and  I  smiled  to  myself  at  the  memory,  wondering 
if  it  were  a  prayer  ;  for  if  it  were — true,  earnest,  heart- 
felt prayer — then  had  I  cause  to  hope,  for  the  Bible  speaks 
of  the  prayers  of  a  good  man  availing  much.  This  one 
farewell,  at  least,  ought  to  have  made  me  happy. 

He  had  given  me  at  parting  '  not  a  souvenir, '  he  said, 
but  something  that  might  help  me  very  much — some- 
thing that  had  comforted  him  in  time  of  great  despon- 
dency. And  I  had  never  once  looked  in  it,  or  taken  it 
up.  I  had  thrown  it  into  a  drawer  that  night  when  I 
came  home,  and,  I  had  to  confess  it  to  myself,  I  had 
never  thought  of  it  since. 

I  opened  the  drawer  and  took  the  little  book  up  to  the 
window.  I  sat  down  in  the  fading  light  and  turned  leaf 
after  leaf.  On  the  title-page  was  written  in  pencil  'A. 
S.  Aymnr,from  his  father,'  with  a  date  of  some  years 
back.  It  must  have  been  given  to  him  in  his  school  or 
college  days,  and  it  had  been  his  constant  companion 
since.  Here  and  there  some  hand  had  traced  lines  in 
pencil  against  the  verses,  and  one  whole  chapter  was 
thus  marked.  I  read  with  a  strange  sense  of  peace  :  '  It 
is  good  that  we  have  sometimes  troubles  and  crosses  ; 
for  they  often  make  a  man  enter  into  himself,  and  con- 
sider that  he  is  here  in  banishment,  and  ought  not  to 
place  his  trust  in  any  worldly  thing.'  .  .  .  'These things 
help  often  to  the  attaining  of  humility,  and  defend  us 
from  vain  glory  :  for  then  we  are  inclined  to  seek  God 
for  our  inward  witness,  when  outwardly  we  be  contemned 
by  men,  and  when  there  is  no  credit  given  unto  us.' 

And  I  read  not  only  that  page,  but  one  more,  before 
the  cold  dull  twilight  deepened  into  night. 


CHAPTEB  XX. 

A   CHATTER   OF  LETTERS. 

The  days  sped  OB,  passing  into  weeks  and  months ;  and 
before  we  were  aware,  "Winter  came  closing  in,  and 
the  snow  lay  in  white  drifts  all  over  the  country  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach. 

We  went  back  again  into  the  old,  quiet  routine — not 
the  routine  of  the  pleasant  Summer  that  had  gone,  but 
the  dull  round  of  a  life  that  we  bad  thought  left  behind. 
Everybody  seemed  to  be  away,  for  one  thing.  In  the 
most  unexpected  manner  Mrs.  Desmond  closed  her  house, 
took  her  two  daughters  and  dashed  off  to  Europe.  'It 
was  time  that  the  girls  saw  something  of  the  world,'  she 
explained  in  a  breathless  P.  P.  C.  to  mother.  '  The 
country  was  dull  in  the  Winter,  and  what  was  it  to  go 
abroad,  now-a-days  ?  Everybody  went,  and  one  really 
ftlt  out  of  place  in  the  world  if  one  couldn't  talk  of 
Paris,  the  Ehine,  Rome,  frescoes,  paintings,  antiques, 
and  that  sort  of  thing.'  And  then,  suddenly,  she  beg- 
ged mother  to  let  me  go  ?nth  the  girls.  '  She  would  take 
the  best  of  care  of  me,  and  what  wouldn't  a  glimpse  of 
Old  World  art  do  for  me.  Would  mother  trust  her  ? 
Could  she  spare  me  ?  '  I  couldn't  but  laugh  at  the  high- 
handed audacity  of  the  request,  when  she  knew  for  a 
certainty  that  I  hadn't  money  enough  to  pay  even  for  a 
sott  plauk  in  the  steerage  ;  but  mother  smiled  serenely, 
acknowledged  that  it  would  be  delightful,  and  what  she 
should  most  desire  for  me,  bat  it  was  quite  impossible  to 
afford -it ;  and  with  protestations  of  regret  and  a  hope 


236  CLOVEULY. 

that  we  should  meet  again  the  following  Summer,  she 
bade  us  good-bye. 

We  wore  really  sorry  to  losa  the  young  ladies.  They 
were  bright  and  rather  sensible — Meg  and  I  often  won- 
dered how  they  could  be — and  with  Mr.  Aymar  and  Ne;d 
away,  it  was  more  than  ever  dull  to  us.  When  I  look 
back  upon  that  Winter,  I  remember  nothing  of  m  >re 
importance  than  our  home-sewing,  our  Parish  Aid,  and 
Saturday  Mission  School ;  the  putting  on  of  a  gingliain 
dress  in  the  morning,  and  a  plain  black  cashmere  in  the 
afternoon,  with  white  ruffles  at  the  throat  and  wrists,  sit- 
ting quietly  in  mother's  room  or  the  parlor,  with  our 
sewing  or  embroidery,  sometimes  taking  np  my  drawing 
— but  my  paiuting  was  put  away,  and  for  a  season  for- 
gotten. In  the  long  Winter  evenings  father  or  Nat 
would  read  to  us  as  we  worked  together,  and  Mr.  H  >mans 
and  Mr.  Price  occasionally  dropped  in,  the  former  with 
a  new  book  or  a  freshly  cut  magazine,  and  the  latter  with 
ft  budget  of  parish  plans  to  spread  before  us.  It  was  a 
dull  Winter  ;  but  it  couldn't  be  called  lonely,  for,  as  Flo 
once  said,  there  were  five  of  us  left,  and  mother  and  fa- 
ther were  always  interested  in  our  projects,  and  ready  to 
help  us,  too.  One  afternoon  in  every  week,  Netta,  Meg, 
and  I,  would  work  for  the  Parish  Aid  ;  and  after  tea, 
Ned  Homans  would  walk  over  for  his  sister,  and  finish 
out  the  evening  with  us  ;  or,  if  we  were  at  Netta's,  he  in- 
variably walked  home  with  Meg.  I  always  had  to  take 
up  with  Nat.  And  Mr.  Homans  was  such  a  grave,  mid- 
dle aged  gentleman,  I  often  wondered  what  possible 
topic  of  interest  lie  and  oar  Meg  could  hold  in  com- 
mon ;  but.  whatever  it  might  be,  they  managed  to  extract 
a  good  deal  of  quiet  pleasure  from  it. 

We  heard  from  the  Desmonds  very  often  through  Net- 


A   CHAPTER    OF    LETTERS.  237 

ta,  upon  whom  we  now  depended  almost  entirely  for  so- 
ciety. Mrs.  Desmond  was  cantering  through  the  world 
at  a  break-neck  pace,  determined  to  see  everything  ia 
the  shortest  possible  space  of  time,  if  one  were  to  judge 
from  the  letters  Netta  read  to  me.  They  drifted  over  to  us 
like  leaves  from  the  trees  in  Autumn.  Just  as  we  had  be- 
gun to  think  of  her  parlez-vousing  glibly  in  France,  she 
was  possibly  gliding  along  the  Grand  Canal  in  Venice,  pic- 
niciug  in  the  Tyrol,  or  dropping  in  upon  an  Austrian 
Sc/ntte"nfe.<l.  We  heard  of  her  iu  all  possible  and  im- 
possible places.  Now  that  she  had  fairly  started,  it 
wasn't  enough  to  be  simply  ubiquitous — if  it  wasn't  wick- 
ed to  say  so,  she  was  doing  her  best  to  be  omnipresent. 
We  should  not  have  been  surprised  to  hear  that  she  had 
b?eu  trying  elephant  riding  in  India,  or  mounted  on  a 
camel,  was  enthusiastically  picking  her  way  over  Sahara, 
with  her  gold  rimmed  eye-glasses  nicely  adjusted  and  the 
latest  Parisian  novelty  upon  her  head. 

'  She  had  met  such  charming  people,'  she  wrote  ;  '  had 
formed  such  undying  attachments,  and  yet,  she  assured 
Netta,  she  was  wild  to  see  the  village  people  again,  and 
go  back  to  her  active  parish  duties — and  that  reminded 
her  she  had  seen  Mr.  Ay  mar.  In  the  most  unexpected 
manner  she  had  stumbled  in  upon  him,  conducting  the 
English  Church  services  in  an  obscure  German  town.  It 
was  the  sweetest  bit  of  home  that  could  possibly  have 
bet  n  wafted  to  her  ;  and  he  asked  about  every  one — posi- 
tively every  one,  my  do  ar— even  to  that  absurd  Matty 
Prije  and  Jimmy  Van  Dyke  and  his  three  tow-headed 
daughters  ;  and  he  has  grown  so  handsome,  so  eloquent 
— more  like  my  ideal  John  than  ever  ;  but  his  mother — 
now  really,  my  dear,  I  must  whisper  you  a  secret  even  at 
this  distance — it  isn't  a  case  of  iiJierited  beauty,  at  least 


238  CLOVERLY. 

the  gift  isn't  directly  from  bis  mother,  the  most  faded 
little  specimen,  dressed  in  rusty,  sepulchral  black,  of  a 
cut  and  fashion  that  might  have  answered  very  well  at 
Vhe  obsequies  of  Cheops ;  but  really,  at  a  gathering  of 
distinguished  English  and  Americans,  for  the  purpo.se  of 
Morning  Prayer,  it  was  comical,  you  know,  my  love,  pos- 
itively comical.  Even  Edith  smiled  ;  and  that,  with 
Edith's  sense  of  propriety,  you  will  grant  me,  meant  a 
very  great  deal.  But  thea  this  poor  little  fragment  of 
apparently  a  bygone  age,  lives,  like  her  son,  in  a  sort-of- 
above-the-world  state  ;  and  how  should  she,  poor  dear, 
know  anything  of  Worth  or  Le  bon  Mar  die  ? — besides,  she 
is  a  great  invalid,  and  Mr.  Ayinar  just  travels  about  with 
her  from  place  to  place.  We  met  them  again,  weeks  after- 
ward, in  the  Valley  of  Gasteio,  trying  the  warm  baths — 
those  miraculous  baths,  my  dear,  of  which,  probably,  you 
have  read.  I  took  one — only  one — and  all  I  can  say  is, 
I  live  to  tell  the  tale.' 

In  the  Spring  another  letter  came.  '  I'm  so  sorry,  in- 
deed I  arn,  Netta,  that  I  spoke  so  slightingly  of  that 
faded  little  woman,  Mrs.  Aymar.  She  is  gone  now,  poor 
thing,  where  it  don't  make  any  difference  about  the  cut 
of  her  garments.  I  expect  she  was  a  sort  of  a  saint,  for 
she  died  in  the  most  peaceful,  lovely  manner,  at  Home, 
and  her  son  left  her  there  in  the  Protestant  burial  ground, 
just  as  she  wished.  There  is  the  most  exquisite  stone- 
pine  near  her  grave,  and  when*  I  went  there,  just  before 
I  left,  Mr.  Aymar  had  plan  ted  white  violets  all  over  it.  I 
am  sure  I  am  very  sorry  for  him,  though  why  he  sh-ml-.l 
be  so  broken-hearted  about  it,  I  can't  imagine.  She 
seemed  a  very  remote  little  body  to  me  ;  probably  she 
once  was  interesting,  and  he  might  choose  to  remember 
— memory  is  such  a  very,  very  odd  thing,  jou  know.  I 


A   CHAPTER   OF   LETTERS.  239 

find  the  tears  coming  into  my  eyes,  sometimes,  when  I 
think  of  my  mother,  although  the  dear  old  lady  died 
when  I  was  very  young  ;  but  I  remember  distinctly,  she 
wore  two  little  flat  bunches  of  curls  on  each  side  of  her 
head,  with  tortoise-shell  combs — combs  were  all  the  style 
then — and  she  was  very  sweet  and  lovely — I  sometimes 
think  Edith  resembles  her — -so  good  and  religious,  you 
know.  You  can't  think  how  even  here  she  finds  out  all 
the  English  chapels,  and  she  is  just  as  regular  at  the  ser- 
vices as  if  she  were  at  home — so  nice  of  her,  you  know — 
and  we  do  all  we  can  to  comfort  Mr.  Aymar.  I  can't 
but  think  our  presence  here  was,  on  the  whole,  provi- 
dential. We  are  his  nearest,  and  indeed,  we  might  say, 
his  only  friends — and  one  don't  quite  understand  what 
that  is,  until  one  is  in  a  strange  land  one's  self,  hearing 
a  strange,  uncouth  language  spoken.  It  seems  so  simple 
to  speak  English,  and  I  think  they  might  do  it  if  they 
tried.  But  they  don't  try,  my  dear — there's  the  trouble 
— they  don't  make  the  slightest  effort  to  learn.  It  seems 
just  like  obstinacy,  sometimes.  So  I  tbink  our  hearty, 
eld-fashioned  English  "I'm  so  sorry  for  you,"  sounds 
sweeter  than  any  amount  of  sympathy  in  those  dreadful 
gutturals,  that  are  dragged  up  from  the  depths  of  a  kind 
heart,  perhaps  ;  but  I  always  feel  as  if  that  organ  lay 
somewhere  in  the  region  of  their  boots  —  sympathy 
sounds  such  a  long  way  off,  Netta,  my  love.  And  Mr. 
Aymar  is  still  with  us,  here  at  Rotterdam  ;  but  we're  go- 
ing to  take  a  run  up  to  Norway  and  Sweden,  and  if 
nothing  very  new  and  attractive  offers,  we  shall 
be  at  home  before  the  Summer  is  over.  I  don't 
find  anything  better  than  Ocean  County,  over  here, 
though  I  will  privately  whisper  to  you  that  some 
persons  thiuk  New  Jersey  must  be  —  well  —  very 


240  CLOVEKLY. 

queer  1  I  have  met  all  sorts  of  people  abroad — black, 
white,  red,  and  cream-colored  ;  nice  people,  and  common 
people,  people  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  people 
from  the  middle  ;  but  I  haven't  seen  one  from  New  Jer- 
sey yet.  It  may  sound  incredible,  my  love,  but  it  is  a 
positive  fact,  when  I  say  we  are  from  that  State,  they 
stare,  and  I  can't  help  the  feeling,  that  they  are  looking 
for  barnacles,  or  some  other  dreadful  thing  ;  but  I  always 
write  my  name  down  resolutely  on  all  the  hotel  books, 
no  matter  how  hot  and  uncomfortable  I  feel  while  I  am 
doing  it,  with  a  very  plain,  legible  New  Jersey  after  it, 
though  I  can't  help  feeling,  when  it's  all  done,  that  it's 
the  U.  S.  A.  that  has  saved  me.  I  can't  say  how  Mr.  Ay- 
mar  feels  about  it — he  never  tells  ;  also,  I  don't  know 
whether  he  will  go  on  to  Norway  with  us,  or  to  Lou- 
don  alone.  He  never  mentions  his  plans,  which  is  de- 
cidedly funny  of  him,  for  I  tell  him  mine  fifty  times  a 
day.' 

This  was  only  a  portion  of  the  letter  that  Netta  sent  us 
over  to  read.  The  rest  was  a  sort  of  running  commentary 
on  all  of  the  out-of -the  way  and  in-the-way  places  between 
Bavaria  and  the  Hague.  How  we  all  shouted  when  Meg 
finished  reading  it,  and  how  Bob  cheered  for  Mrs.  Des- 
mond when  she  told  of  her  plucky  little  encounters  with 
the  poor  natives,  who  would  thrust  their  execrable  Ger- 
man and  Dutch  upon  her.  Anything  more  comical  than 
Mrs.  Desmond,  with  her  set  ideas  and  her  phrase  book, 
careering  around  the  world,  was  difficult  to  imagine.  It 
seemed  a  shame  to  laugh  when  the  same  letter  told  of 
poor  Mr.  Aymar's  loss  ;  but  funerals  and  woe  were  so  oddly 
mixed  up  with  her  mother's  front  hair,  carnival  festivities 
and  custom-house  wrangles,  that  wo  had  to  take  the 
Whole  as  one  of  Mrs.  Desmond's  pot-pourris,  and  let  it 


A   CHAFFER   OF   LETTERS.  241 

go.  There  were  also  kind  messages  to  us,  and  a  long,  en- 
thusiastic, but  vague  description  of  the  paintings  she  had 
seen  at  the  Piuakotheke  in  Munich,  which  clause  was  iu- 
serted  for  my  benefit,  she  said. 

Bob  volunteered  the  information  'that  Mr.  Aymar 
would  go  to  Norway,  also  that  any  one  with  half  au  eye 
could  predict  that  he  would  come  .home  engaged  to  one 
of  the  daughters  ';  and  father,  who  never  gossips,  laugh- 
ed and  said  '  I  think  you  are  about  righl,  Bob,  my  boy.' 
I  do  think  this  is  a  very  peculiar  world  ! 

The  Spring  cheered  us  all  wonderfully.  The  flowers  bud- 
ded in  the  garden  beneath  our  windows,  and  in  the  trees, 
covered  with  drifting  blossoms,  the  birds  came  back  and 
buill  their  nests.  The  striped  squirrel  nodded  and  wink- 
ed his  bright  «yes  at  us  from  his  favorite  crotch  in  the  big 
tree,  and  cracked  nuts  in  our  very  faces  with  the  utmost 
impunity.  Evidently  he  had  found  us  out,  and  liked  us 
pretty  well  after  a  year's  acquaintance.  We  had  letters 
from  Neal  all  the  Winter  most  regularly.  He  had  gone 
into  the  office  of  an  old  physician,  a  friend  of  his  mo- 
ther's, and  was  reading  medicine  with  him.  '  I  am  go- 
ing into  work  and  study  with  a  will,  now,'  he  wrote  to 
Meg.  '  I  am  tired  and  ashamed  of  my  idle  life,  and 
when  I  get  my  profession,  I'll  come  down  and  settle 
near  you.  A  country  practice  will  take  all  the  old  idle- 
ness out  of  me,  ard  do  me  good,  too.  Meantime  I  am 
making  arrangements  to  spend  the  whole  Summer  with 
you.  I  don't  want  to  see  any  one  but  you  girls — don't 
fi.row  me  over  for  the  first  new  face  that  comes  along;  I 
belong  to  you  now,  don't  ever  give  me  up.  The  mother 
and  Bess  wont,'  he  added  confidently,  'but  I've  my 
doubts  about  Bab.  She  had  freaky  ways,  and,  now  that 
Ajmar's  gone,  I'm  afraid  she  will  turn  around  on  me. 


242 

Caution  her  about  it,  Meg,  and  oh  do  bo  glad  to  see  me 
when  I  come,  for  no  one  knows  how  much  I  need  you  all, 
or  how  much  pain  will  be  mixed  with  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing.' 

Meg  read  me  the  letter  one  beautiful  day  in  May,  and 
before  June  was  well  begun  Neal  was  with  us  again  ;  not 
much  changed  as  far  as  looks  went,  but  more  grave, 
earnest  and  thoughtful,  than  I  had  ever  seen  him  before. 
Father  and  mother,  I  think,  began  to  love  him  almost  as 
much  as  they  did  Nat,  and  Bess  positively  spoiled  him 
with  her  childish  adulation.  The  two  were  always  to- 
gether, and  I  did  not  wonder  that  he  petted  and  loved 
her,  for  she  grew  every  day  of  her  life  more  like  Flo. 
She  always  had  her  quiet  little  ladyisms  and  repose  of 
manner,  and  her  hair  was  the  same  wavy  gold,  and  her 
eyes  just  as  serenely  blue.  Bess  already  was  the  beauty 
of  the  family,  and  in  a  furtive  way  was  laying  aside  her 
doll  and  childish  plays,  and  taking  to  reading  and  prac- 
tising the  piano,  and  putting  on  dainty  airs  of  stately 
sobriety  that  were  quite  unusual. 

As  for  Meg 'and  me,  we  drifted  off  into  parish  work 
with  great  energy.  Early  in  the  Spring  poor  Mr.  Leigh- 
ton  died  very  suddenly,  and  Mr.  Price  grew  restless  as 
the  work  increased.  We  had  all  begun  to  look  upon  him 
as  settled  in  his  position,  and  after  Mr.  Leighton's  death, 
he  was  offered  the  rectorship,  but  to  our  surprise  he  re- 
fused. He  preferred  going  to  the  city,  and  was  even  at 
that  moment  deliberating  over  a  call  he  had  received. 
He  withheld  his  acceptance,  however,  until  the  year  for 
which  he  came  had  expired,  and  meantime  the  parish 
was  thrown  into  the  utmost  anxiety.  Would  Mr.  Ayuiar 
come  back  now  that  his  mother  was  goue  ?  He  ha  1 
promised  most  earnestly  to  return  whenever  ho  was  ubio, 


A   CHAPTKR   OF   LETTERS.  243 

arid  jet  at  that  moment  he  was  travelling  about  in 
Swede  a  and  Norway,  merely  for  pleasure,  and  forgetting 
us  in  our  necessity.  There  was  no  reason  now  why  he 
could  not  come,  and  worse  than  all,  he  did  not  even  write. 
Evidently  the  old  adage  was  true — '  out  of  sight,  out  of 
mind.'  Mr.  Price  said  as  much  to  me  one  day,  and  I 
could  not  deny  it.  We  were  all  cruelly  disappointed  in 
Mr.  Aymar. 

A  few  dnys  after  our  conversation  Mr.  Price  sent  in  his 
resignation,  to  take  effect  the  first  of  October,  and  now 
it  only  remained  for  the  vestry  to  choose  a  suitable  per- 
son in  his  stead.  Now  we  needed  Mrs.  Desmond.  With 
her  energy  and  her  long  purse,  what  couldn't  she  do  for 
us,  and  why  didn't  she  hurry  back  ?  Bob  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  she  wouldn't  stop  until  she  had  sung  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner  on  the  highest  peak  of  Caucasus. 
It  certainly  began  to  look  like  it. 

Meantime  Netta,  Meg  and  I  kept  the  Mission  School  and 
Parish  Aid  alive,  doing  the  work  of  six  all  through  that 
Spring  and  Summer,  and  encouraging  the  poor  people 
along  the  beach  to  believe  that  their  school  and  extra 
service  would  not  be  given  up,  and  that  somebody  quite 
as  good  as  Mr.  Aymar  and  Mr.  Price  would  be  provided, 
although  it  was  almost  a  matter  of  faith  with  us.  Mother 
once  said  something  to  me  at  this  time,  that  sent  the 
tears  rushing  up  to  my  eyes,  and  me  off  to  my  own  room 
with  never  a  word  to  give  her  in  reply.  It  was  just  a 
kiss  r.pon  my  forehead  and  the  words  very  tenderly 
spoken.  '  I  can  see  how  you  are  trying,  my  child— you 
must  not  think  I  have  not  noticed  because  I  have  said  no- 
thing— and  it  makes  me  very  happy,  very  happy.  You 
are  taking  Flo's  place,  my  darling ;  the  work  that  she  laid 
down  you  have  taken  up  bravely.' 


244  OLOVEBLY. 

0  as  if  this  were  possible  ! — possible  with  me  !    But 
the  love  and  the  tenderness  were  almost  more  than  I 
could  bear. 

A  little  while  after  this  Netta  had  another  letter,  or 
rather  rhapsody,  from  Norway.  '  They  were  having  a 
perfect  Snmme.r,  and  possibly  they  might  "  do  "  the  Nile 
before  they  returned — one  might  as  well  see  it  all,  when 
one  began  ';  but  not  a  word  of  Mr.  Ay  mar. 

One  day  in  mid-Summer  Matty  Price  brought  up  her 
little  boy  to  leave  him  with  us,  as  was  her  custom,  while 
she  went  on  to  one  of  the  farmhouses  to  do  a  day's  wash- 
ing. Baby  Tom  was  always  our  guest  on  these  occasions, 
and  many  a  neat  calico  frock  did  Meg  and  I  shape  for 
him  when  we  were  alone.  He  was  a  bright,  curly  haired 
boy,  quick  to  leap  from  signs  into  words,  and  he  had  be- 
come an  especial  pet  of  mine.  Just  before  sunset  I  took 
him  to  the  end  of  the  lane  to  wait  for  his  mother.  We 
sat  down  on  the  bench  by  the  gate,  he  with  his  lap  full 
of  flowers,  which  I  was  making  up  into  a  bouquet  for  him 
to  take  home.  The  air  was  cool  and  soft  after  the  heat  of 
the  day  ;  the  sunshine  lay  in  broad  patches  over  the 
grass,  and  through  the  trees  a  bright  ray  fell  directly  on 
the  child's  head.  His  hat  was  off,  the  lint-white  curls 
tied  back  with  a  blue  ribbon,  his  little  feet  were  tucked 
under  him  like  a  miniature  edition  of  a  tailor,  and  his 
fat  hands  were  buried  in  the  flowers.  Against  the  dark 
shadows  of  green,  Tom's  baby  face  and  golden  hair  stood 
out  like  a  beautiful  picture.  'Mam — mam — mam,' he 
shouted  gleefully,  clapping  his  hands,  as  a  step  sounded 
along  the  dusty  road. 

1  heard  the  gate  open,  but  I  thought  of  course  it  was 
only  Matty,  and  hurried  to  tie  my  bouquet,  as  I  called 
out  '  I'll  have  his  flowers  ready  for  him  in   a  minute, 


A    CHAPTER    OF   LETTERS.  245 

Matty.  See  how  I've  curled  his  hair  and  tied  it  with  blue 
ribbon.  Isn't  it  a  pretty  picture  ? ' 

'  It  i;j  indeed, '  said  a  well  known  voice.  '  I  would  never 
care  to  see  a  prettier. ' 

I  turned  quickly,  my  face  flushing  with  surprise.  It 
was  Mr.  Aymar  !  The  very  last  person  on  earth  whom  I 
expected  to  see  ! 

'  Miss  Barbara,  is  it  really  you  ?  I  thought  I  could  not 
be  mistaken,'  he  said,  holding  out  both  his  hands. 

In  return  for  the  warmth  of  his  greeting  I  only  gave 
him  one  of  mine,  having  just  sufficient  presence  of  mind 
to  stammer  out  something  that  might  be  construed  into 
a  welcome — 'And  what  cloud  did  you  drop  from,  and 
when  did  you  laud  ?  '  I  added. 

'  I  came  in  a  much  more  old  fashioned  way  than  riding 
on  a  cloud,  Miss  Barbara — in  an  old  tub  of  a  steamer 
that  I  thought  never  would  land  us  safely  in  New  York  ; 
but  it  did,  and  here  I  am.  I  arrived  about  two  hours  ago, 
and  only  stopped  to  see  Mrs.  Leighton.  I  dashed  in 
upon  her,  and  nearly  frightened  her  into  hearing  all  that 
I  had  to  say  without  the  aid  of  her  ear-trumpet,  and  then 
I  came  directly  up  here. ' 

'And  the  Desmonds  ? '  I  inquired,  '  where  are  they  ? ' 

'Did  you  not  know? — we  parted  at  Rotterdam.  I 
thought  Mrs.  Desmond  would  have  mentioned  it  in  her 
letters.  They  went  on  to  Norway,  and  I  directly  to  Lon- 
don.' 

I  drew  a  long  breath.  '  Why  didn't  you  write  ?  '  I 
said.  '  If  you  only  could  have  known  how  much  the 
Church  needed  you  !' 

'  Because  I  wanted  the  pleasure  of  taking  you  all  by 
surprise.' 

'  Well,  you  have  succeeded,  then,'  I  laughed.     'And 


246  CLOVERLT. 

here  is  one  of  youi  parishioners  to  welcome  you,'  and  I 
pointed  to  little  Tom,  \vho  was  gazing  in  round-eyed 
wonder  upon  the  intruder. 

'Ah  ! '  and  he  patted  the  curly  head.  '  Whose  little 
child  is  it,  pray  ?' 

'  Why,  Matty  Price's  boy — you  surely  remember  her — 
and  this  is  the  baby  that  you  had  to  go  away  and  leave 
unbaptized.  O  you  neeln't  look  so  sorry.  It  was  clone 
soon  after  Mr.  Price  came,  and  I  stood  for  him.  Think 
of  that,  will  you  !  He  is  quite  my  boy  now,  I  do  assure 
you,  and  is  fond  of  me,  next  to  his  mother  only.  You 
see  I  have  come  out  in  quite  a  different  character  since 
Mr.  Price  came.' 

'I  am  glad  that  he  came,  then,'  he  said  soberly. 

For  a  moment  there  wiis  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
hum  and  stir  of  insect  life  around  us,  and  the  low,  far 
away,  murmur  of  the  sea. 

'It  is  good  to  be  at  home  ag.iin,' he  said,  'and  it 
doesn't  look  changed,  though  I  shall  find  more  than  this 
little  boys'  growth  to  astonish  me,  I  suppose.  But  for 
his  presence  here  I  should  scarcely  realize  it  was  nearly  a 
year  since  I  bade  you  good-bye,  in  this  very  place — do 
you  remember  ?  Have  you  been  sitting  here  ever  since 
then  ? — or  is  it  only  a  dream  that  so  much  has  fallen  be- 
tween that  time  and  this  ?  You  are  not  changed,  and  yet 
you  are  not  the  same  Barbara  that  I  left  under  the  trees,' 
and  then  as  his  eyes  roved  over  my  face  and  fell  upon 
my  black  dress,  his  voice  took  a  softer  tone.  '  1  have 
wanted  to  write  and  tell  you  how  deeply  I  sympathized 
with -you  in  your  affliction— I  was  in  Germany  when  I 
heard — but  I  did  not  dare  intrude  upon  your  grief.  You 
must  have  known — you  must  have  felt — th:it  your  loss 
was  one  that  we  all,  as  a  Church  and  as  friends,  must 


A   CHAPTER   OF   LETTERS.  247 

share.     And  yet  words  of  sympathy  seem  so  cold  at  such 
a  time,  that  I  have  dreaded  to  utter  them.' 

'  Thanks,'  I  said,  the  tears  welling  up  into  my  eyes  at 
the  thought  of  Flo.  'It  don't  make  much  difference,  I 
suppose — sympathy  is  such  a  stereotyped  thing.  When 
one  loses  the  very  idol  of  one's  heart,  it  matters  very  lit- 
tle what  the  rest  of  the  world  have  to  say  about  it.  I' 
pappose  I  shock  you.  I  always  did,  I  believe  ;  but  I 
don't  mean  to  be  ungracious.  I  remember  how  you  liked 
Flo,  and  what  good  friends  you  always  were.  You  never 
quarrelled  or  found  fault  with  her,  as  you  did  with  me. 
ISo  one  ever  found  fault  with  Flo,  not  even  when  we 
were  little  children — and  there  always  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing for  children  to  quarrel  about — but  she  always  stood 
aloof  from  such  things.  She  was  never  like  any  one  else. 
Her  life  was  too  pure  and  beautiful  for  earth.' 

'And  so  it  was  taken  away — transplanted,  as  it  were  ; 
lifted  above  all  gross  belongings,  where  it  may  be  per- 
fected day  by  day,  growing  brighter  and  fairer  against 
the  second  coming  of  our  LOUD.  Do  you  ever  try  to  con- 
sole yourself  with  that  thought,  when  you  feel  the  weight 
and  the  bitterness  of  the  loss  upon  you  ? ' 

'  I  do  try,'  I  said  with  a  choking  sensation  in  my  throat, 
'  and  I  am  consoled — sometimes,  not  always.  Some- 
times life  seems  all  made  up  of  hungry  want,  and  wait- 
ing, and  loneliness.  I  don't  think  I  can  tell  you — 
and  you  can  never  know — quite  what  her  death  was  to 
me.' 

'Not  know, 'he  echoed  sadly,  'when  I  have  just  left 
my  all  in  a  foreign  land  ?  And  you  have  others  to  love, 
Baibara  !  Death  claimed  my  all ;  and  yet  I  cannot  call 
the  blow  a  cruel  one,  it  was  dealt  with  so  much  tender- 
ness and  love. '  And  then  we  talked  of  his  mother — of 


248  CLOVERLY. 

the  full,  complete,  and  perfectly  rounded  Christian  l\f:, 
and  Flo's  just  bud  ling  into  promise.  It  seemed  so  eusy 
to  talk  of  her  to  him  after  that — to  tell  of  her  peaceful 
falling  on  sleep,  to  live  over  again  all  the  beautiful  acts 
of  her  life,  her  winning  ways,  her  childlike  faith  and 
trust. 

And  while  we  talked  the  sun  went  down  grandly  into 
the  sea,  and  little  Tom  watched  the  flickering  shadows 
fall,  leaning  his  curly  head  against  ray  shoulder,  listen- 
ing to  the  strange,  deep  voice,  with  round  bright  eyes  of 
wonder.  And  presently  Matty  came  in  at  the  gate,  and 
stopped  to  shake  hands  with  her  dear  Mr.  Aymar  come 
back  again,  and  to  add  an  embarrassed,  incoherent  wel- 
come, that  he  liked,  I  could  plainly  see,  for  he  bent  down 
suddenly  and  left  a  kiss  on  the  little  boy's  white  forehead, 
as  she  was  bearing  him  away  in  her  arms. 

And  then  we  two  were  left  alone  under  the  tall  trees, 
in  the  shadows  and  the  silence. 

'  Will  all  my  old  parishioners  give  me  the  hearty  wel- 
come that  this  poor  young  woman  gave  me  ?  '  he  asked 
rather  suddenly.  '  I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  touched  me 
to  find  myself  so  well  remembered.  You  must  know 
now,  for  you  are  with  them  so  much,  she  says.' 

'  I  think  they  will,'  I  answered.  '  I  am  sure  that  they 
have  waited  and  longed  for  you  with  the  utmost  grati- 
tude and  kindness  in  their  hearts.  And  there  are  all  of 
our  family  yet  to  see,  and  mother  and  Meg  sitting  in  the 
parlor  in  blissful  unconsciousness  of  their  distinguished 
guest.  You  must  go  up  to  the  house  at  once  and  get  a 
welcome  there.' 

'Not  until  I  receive  one  from  this  little  girl,  first,'  he 
said  promptly.  '  Barbara,  tell  me — I  want  to  know,  and 
I  cannot  wait — are  you  glad  to  see  me  ?  Are  you  glad 


A  CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS. 


249 


that  I  came  back  ?  If  you  tell  me  to  stay,  I  shall  stay ; 
and  if  you  tell  me  to  go — O  Barbara,  I  hardly  care  what 
becomes  of  me  then  ! ' 

'  I — I  don't  want  you  to  go,'  I  stammered  inaudibly — 
'that  is — yon  needn't  go  away — on  my  account.' 

'  Then — on  your  account,' — and  this  time  he  laughed— 
'may  I  stay?' 


CHAPTEB  XXI. 


NOT  THE  END,   BUT   THE 

Nearly  a  year  after,  we  had  a  wedding  in  our  little 
church,  and  everybody  was  there  to  see.  It  was  quite 
an  innovation  upon  established  rules  ;  for,  before  this, 
almost  every  one  had  been  married  at  home,  with  only  a 
few,  select,  invited  guests,  to  behold  the  inevitable  lace 
and  orange  blossoms. 

The  pleasant  Summer  time  had  come  around  again. 
The  sky  was  as  blue  as  the  sea,  and  all  the  world  looked 
fresh  and  fair  as  if  decked  expressly  for  a  bridal.  The 
chancel  was  fall  of  flowers,  and  Mrs.  Desmond  was  there, 
eyeing  the  effect  with  her  gold  glasses  wavering  doubt- 
fully on  the  tip  of  her  agitated  nose  ;  besides,  she  wore 
the  most  beautiful  silk  dress  and  lace  bonnet  that  I  had 
ever  seen.  And  Edith,  who  had  married  abroad,  was 
with  her  husband  and  mother  in  the  front  pew,  the  ob- 
served of  all  observers  ;  for  the  bride,  who  should  have 
been  the  prominent  figure,  was,  to  the  great  discontent 
of  the  crowd,  dressed  only  in  a  plain,  grey  silk,  with  a 
jacket  of  the  same,  and  just  a  suspicion  of  the  orthodox 
bridal  white,  under  the  brim  of  her  grey  chip  hat.  And 
Bella  Desmond,  who  had  her  old  seat  at  the  organ,  play- 
ed the  most  joyous  wedding  march,  and  the  Sunday- 
school  children,  ranged  in  two  long  lines  on  either  side 
of  the  middle  aisle,  threw  flowers  as  Mrs.  Desmond  had 
instructed  them  to  do,  when  the  ceremony  was  ended. 

Perhaps  it  was  just  like  any  other  simple  country  wed- 
ding, and  yet  I  enjoyed  it  rather  more  than  anything  of 
the  kind  that  I  had  ever  attended.  That  might  have 


NOT  THE  EXD,  BUT  THE  BEGINNING.       251 

been  because  I  was  the  bride — those  tilings  sometimes 
make  a  difference  ;  beside  it  was  our  Church,  our  people, 
our  Sunday-?chool  children  now.  And  yet  there  were 
tears  in  my  eyes  when  I  walked  down  the  aisle,  and  I 
could  not  have  seen  my  way  clearly  over  the  flower 
strewn  carpet,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  arm  on  which  I 
leaned — though  I  was  so  happy  I  could  not  tell  why  I 
should  cry.  And  then  we  drove  home,  and  for  a  brief 
hour  received  the  congratulations  of  the  parish. 

'  Who  would  dream  that  I  could  shed  tears  at  the  loss 
of  Barbara  Fox  to  the  world  1 '  said  I  to  Meg,  as  I  turned 
from  ber  to  mother  for  a  good-bye  kiss. 

'  Perhaps  we  shall  find  we  all  have  gained  something  in 
Barbara  Aymar,'  said  father. 

'I  have  gained  a  brother,'  said  Bess,  holding  up  her 
face  to  him  for  a  kiss,  and  then  my  husband  helped  me 
in  the  carriage  and  we  drove  away,  looking  back  to  wava 
our  hands  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  Bob  executing  a  pi- 
rouette, with  the  traditional  shoe  in  his  hand. 

It  all  seemed  like  a  dream — sometimes  it  seems  so  still. 
And  my  heart  failed  me  when  I  thought  of  leaving  home 
and  my  Meg — the  better  half  of  me,  I  always  called  her — • 
and  my  dear,  dear  mother,  and  all ;  and  I  found  myself 
wondering  how  my  husband's  people  would  like  me,  and 
what  they  would  think  of  me,  and  if  any  one  would  ever 
love  me  for  myself,  or  just  because  they  all  loved  their 
dear  young  pastor.  How  could  I  ever  tell  1  for  I  knew 
there  had  been  those  in  the  parish  who,  when  they  first 
heard  of  our  engagement,  thought  I  was  too  young,  too 
gay,  a  little  too  abrupt,  freaky  perhaps,  and  childish,  to 
be  a  clergyman's  wife;  but  father  patted  roy  head  kindly 
and  said  '  She  will  learn,  this  little  girl  of  mine,  she 
will  learn  a  great  many  things  by  and  bye.  I  can  see  she 


252  CLOYEBLT. 

has  been  learning  very  silently  and  quietly  a  great  deal 
since  we  came  down  here  to  live.' 

That  was  about  as  much  encouragement  as  I  wanted 
from  father,  who  said  so  little  usually,  but  who  thought 
so  much.  And  as  for  my  husband,  indeed  I  don't  think 
I  can  ever  tell,  even  to  this  chronicle,  ivhat  he  said,  or 
what  he  keeps  on  saying  every  day;  and  when  I  think  of 
him,  I  can  smile  and  say  over  to  myself  softly  that  it 
seems  more  than  e\  er  like  a  dream. 

Bob  was  the  only  one  that  tried  to  infuse  a  drop  of 
bitterness  in  my  full  cup,  when  I  told  my  incoherent  tale 
to  the  family.  'He  had  no  objection  to  Mr.  Aymar  ;  he 
was  an  awfully  jolly  fellow,  he  had  no  manner  of  doubt — • 
when  one  found  him  out,'  he  said  in  hi^  blunt,  boyish 
fashion;  '  but  his  name,  that  was  more  than  even  he  could 
bear;  and  what  would  I  do  ? '  remembering  my  agonies 
in  former  days  over  my  poor,  ugly,  diminutive,  Bab  Fox. 

'Aymar  is  a  good  name, '  I  said  hotly  ;  '  better,  far  bet- 
ter than  Fox.' 

'  But  Mrs.  Adoniram  Sennacherib  ! — think  of  that,  Bab. 
I  don't  believe  even  you  can  bear  it,  my  poor  girl.  But 
you  have  our  united  sympathy — you  can  have  any  amount 
of  that  to  fall  back  upon,  you  know.  And  I  found  it  out 
so  easy.  His  name  was  engraved  on  the  handle  of  the 
umbrella  that  he  left  in  the  hall  last  night.  I  thought  I 
should  faint  when  I  read  it  and  recalled  your  delicate 
nerves,  and  for  a  minute  I  rashly  contemplated  playing 
the  part  of  the  Assyrian.  I  think  any  one  of  the  family 
could  have  stood  that  blow  better  than  you,  Bab. ' 

'  I  do  not  believe  it, '  I  said  with  emphasis,  pretending 
to  arrange  my  hair  before  the  glass,  but  feeling  my 
cheeks  grow  crimson  every  moment. 

'  It  was  a  new  hatchet,'  said  Bob  reproachfully,  '  and  I 


NOT  THE  EXD,  BUT  THE  BEGINNING.       253 

cut  the  tree,  but  I  could  not  tell  a  lie.  You  will  ask  my 
forgiveness  before  night,  Bab,  in  your  new  frame  of  mind. 
A  yuar  ago  my  life  wouldn't  have  been  safe,  though.' 

And  he  went  off  to  tell  Meg,  singing  over  to  himself, 

'  Things  deteriorate  in  kind : 

Lemons  run  to  leaves  and  rind ; 

Meagre  crops  of  figs  and  limes ; 

Shorter  days  and  harder  times.' 

But  that  evening,  when  we  were  alone,  I  seized  the  op- 
portunity to  say  to  Mr.  Aymar,  as  I  opened  my  Thomas 
&  Kempis,  and  turned  the  leaves  carelessly,  '  O  by  the 
way,  you  have  never  told  me  your  name;  the  initials  only 
are  here.  Is  it  a  very  dreadful  one,  that  you  have  kept  it 
to  yourself  all  this  time  ?  ' 

Hi;  smiled  as  he  said  'Nothing  very  bad,  little  one  ; 
not  half  as  bad  as  it  might  be;  still  it  is  not  a  pretty  name 
— Algernon  Sidney.  My  mother  always  called  me  Algie 
when  I  was  a  boy,  but  I  suppose  you  will  think  I  have 
outgrown  the  abbreviation  now,  so  call  me  anything  you 
like,  dear.' 

'And  I  have  been  trying  this  whole  afternoon  to  say 
"Mr.,  Sir,  you,  he,"  and  sometimes  "it."  But  I  know 
one  thing,  I  shall  never  call  Bob  "George  Washington  " 
after  this, '  I  exclaimed  with  a  real  glow  of  gratitude  to 
the  faded  little  woman  who  had  the  grace  not  to  ga 
back  into  the  antiquities  for  a  name,  as  she  had  undoubt- 
edly done  for  the  fashion  of  her  garments. 

And  so  my  very  last  burden  rolled  away.  Perhaps  it 
was  silly,  but  I  was  so  very,  very  glad  !  It  would  have 
been  rather  awkward  to  go  through  life  making  a  per- 
sonal pronoun  of  one's  husband,  after  all. 

Sometimes  I  wonder  if  my  chronicle  is  ended,  just  be- 
cause I  am  married.  It  seems  as  if  life  had  only  begun 


254  CLOVERS. 

when  that  came ;  though  I  used  to  think  that  a  clergy- 
man's life  was  the  hardest  in  the  world,  always  excepting 
the  poor  wife's.  But  then  every  one  hasu't  such  a  par- 
ish as  we  have,  or —I  may  surely  write  it  down  hero — 
such  a  husband  as  mine.  Life  is  almost  too  new,  and 
too  perfect,  even  now,  to  be  real.  Instead  of  coming  to 
the  ead,  I  shall  look  back  upon  it  as  a  begiuniug. 

After  our  marriage  Mrs.  Leighton  went  away  to  live 
with  a  daughter,  and  we  moved  into  the  pretty  little 
rectory.  Mother  says  it  is  a  gem  of  a  home.  Mrs.  Des- 
mond and  I,  strange  to  relate,  are  the  dearest  friends.  I 
found  it  impossible  to  resist  her  patronage  and  her  good 
humor.  Bob  says  she  bought  me,  and,  metaphorically, 
gagged  me,  and  bound  me  over  to  keep  the  peace,  but 
then  Bob  will  never  get  over  his  unfortunate  habit  of 
speakiug  "his  mind  plainly.  At  all  events,  I  accepte  1  in 
a  perfect  transport,  the  exquisite  little  copy  of  Carlo 
Dolci's  Infant  Jesus,  that  she  brought  me,  from  Italy  ! 
Moreover  she  gave  the  largest  kind  of  a  receplion  for  us, 
and  privately  begged  me  to  forget  that  she  bad  ever  said 
anything  derogatory  to  the  dignity  of  my  mother-in-law. 
The  poor  soul !  How  could  I  help  being  a  friend  after 
that? 

'  I  always  adore  my  clergyman's  wife,'  she  said  to  me, 
in  a  breathless  parenthesis,  '  but  don't  be  one  of  the 
pokey  kind,  my  dear  ;  you  know  the  look  of  them — al- 
ways in  washed  out  gray,  with  a  long  suffering  expres- 
sion of  countenance,  and  a  disposition  to  frown  down  ia- 
nocent  amusements.  I  can't  but  think  it's  owing  in  some 
way  to  the  dress,  my  love  ;  pray  avoid  neutral  tints — I 
have  a  horror  of  them  myself  ;  and  though  I  am  disposed 
to  be  very  religious,  I  must  have  my  little  parties,  and 
croquet  and  music,  and  my  short  game  of  whist  on  a 


NOT  THE  END,  BUT  THE  BEGINNING.       255 

Winter  evening.  I  never  could  understand  this  being 
"  in  the  world  and  yet  not  of  the  world,"  my  love — do 
you  know,  confidentially,  sometimes  I  fancy  it  must  be  a 
conundrum  or  a  fable,' 

Bella  is  still  at  home.  She  and  Netta  and  Meg  ara 
great  friends,  and  work  wonders  in  the  mission  and  Sun- 
day-school. Edith  went  to  live  in  the  city,  but  in  the 
Summer  she  comes  back  to  her  mother,  and  as  for  her 
husband,  we  all  like  him  very  much.  Mr.  Homans  and 
Meg  are  very  friendly  and  polite  to  eich  other,  but  there 
isn't  the  slightest  prospect  of  her  ever  marrying.  '  Bab, 
my  dear,'  she  said  to  me  one  day,  '  it  did  very  well  for 
yoti  to  go  away  and  leave  mother — you  never  amounted 
to  much  in  the  house,  except  in  the  way  of  a  picture  or 
two,  and  oil  and  turpentine  over  your  best  dresses,  and 
on  the  carpet,  to  say  nothing  of  your  fatal  habit  of  deco- 
rating your  nose.  We've  had  enough  of  love  making  and 
giving  in  marriage  in  this  family  for  years  to  come.  It  is 
a  mercy  that  no  one  wants  me,  for  no  family  is  complete 
without  one  oi'thodox  old  maid,  to  say  the  least.  Beside, 
now  that  you  are  away,  I  am  much  too  busy  to  be  worri- 
ed .with  nonsense  and,  as  Mrs.  Desmond  would  coherent- 
ly observe,  "  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know,  my  love  ".' 

And  NVal  came  to  live  among  us,  just  as  he  promised 
he  would,  with  an  M.D.  affixed  to  his  name.  But  he 
never  married.  When  he  is  questioned  he  says  he  is 
waiting  for  Bess,  and  meantime  Bess  is  very  fond  and 
proud  of  her  dear  brother  Neal,  and  thinks  there  is  no 
one  in  the  whole  country  who  is  so  wise  a  physician.  Ami 
many  others,  particularly  among  the  poor,  think  the 
same  thing.  But  there  is  a  shadow  on  his  face  some- 
times, and  I  often  think  it  will  never  go  away. 

And  father  and  mother  are  the  very  happiest  couple  in 


256  CLOVERLY. 

all  the  whole  wide  world,  they  say — with  their  dear 
Cloverly,  all  their  own  now,  and  Nat,  and  Meg,  and  Bob, 
and  Bess  around  them. 

And  the  world  went  on.  People  married  and  died,  and 
new  people  rose  tip  in  their  places,  and  yet  we  were  left 
an  unbroken  family,  save  for  that  one  sweet  link  that 
bound  us  all  to  heaven. 

So  there  is  nothing  more  left  for  me  to  tell.  Nothing 
but  to  close  up  my  little  book  and  put  it  away.  Nothing 
more  to  record  but  quiet  years  of  happiness  and  undis- 
turbed labor — a  tideless  stream  of  trust,  and  hope,  and 
love.  For  there  is  sunshine  in  my  heart  now  all  the  day 
long.  God  has  been  very  good  to  me.  He  has  led  me 
out  of  the  land  of  doubt,  through  the  shadowed  valley, 
up  to  the  hills.  All  along  the  way  did  His  hand  guide 
me,  though  in  my  wilfulness  and  pride,  I  made  the  way 
very  hard  to  myself  for  a  time.  For  I  wanted,  and  in- 
tended, to  do  such  very  great  things — and  I  have  done  so 
litile  ;  now,  in  looking  back,  I  can  see  that  I  have  done 
so  little.  But  I  am  beginning  to  learn  that  when  I  think 
I  have  done  the  most,  then  it  is  that  I  have  done  the 
least,  that  I  am  only  the  same  wilful,  headstrong  Barbara 
after  all. 

But  what  are  our  lives  but  beginnings  ?  and  what  is 
the  world  but  a  school  of  discipline  ?  a  place  of  trial, 
failure,  and  too  often,  utter  defeat.  But,  thank  God, 
one  day  there  will  be  an  end.  One  day  we  shall  know 
and  be  known,  '  when  the  morning  breaks  and  the  shad- 
ows flee  away,'  we  shall  have  another  joyful  beginning — 
all  together — in  Our  Father's  House. 

THE  END 


•'« 


p.    3TORJT    FOI\  OUR 


iRLS, 


u  A  fresh  and  spirited  story,  well  calculated  to  interest  and  pleaee. 
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"A  sprightly  attractive  representation  of  life  in  a  young- 
Ladies'  Seminary.  Its  salutary  tone,  sound  morality,  and 
healthful  religious  sentiment,  commend  it  as  a  safe,  sugges- 
tive, and  interesting  book  for  the  class  of  readers,  for  whose 
entertainment  and  instruction  it  has  been  written." — Com- 
mercial. 

"  It  is  written  by  one  whose  familiarity  with  the  subject  is 
the  result  of  a  life  spent  therein  ;  part  of  the  time  as  a 
scholar,  part  of  the  time  as  a  teacher.  It  has  merit,  and 
though  the  critics  may  not  award  it  an  especially  high  rank 
for  artistic  excellence,  it  will  prove  acceptable  both  as  an 
entertaining  and  instructive  story,  to  a  large  class  of  read- 
ers. *  *  *  *  To  girls  who  are  entering  school,  as  an 
introduction  to  its  life,  and  to  all  teachers,  less  for  any  light 
it  throws  on  methods,  than  for  the  thorough  geniality  of  the 
spirit  which  it  manifests  in  the  author,  and  inspires  in  the 
reader." — Harper  s  Monthly. 

"The  heroines  are  not  exactly  angels,  fortunately ;  but, 
true,  real,  jolly,  frollicking,  happy  girls,  getting  into  mis- 
chief and  repenting;  a  few  jealous  and  spiteful,  but  most 
amiable  and  lovable.  We  seem  to  get  thoroughly  acquaint- 
ed with  the  young  ladies,  not  in  their  best  dresses  and 
party  manners,  but  in  their  cvery-day  life.  It  is  a  book  with 
a  purpose,  to  lead  girls  aright,  and  its  views  of  life  and 
duty  are  novel  and  practical." — College  Courant, 

I2mo,  cloth.   325  pages.   19  illustrative  initials,  $1.50. 
By  mail,  post  free,  011  remitting  price. 

ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  Co.,  770  Broadway,  N.  Y. 

For  Sale  by  the  Booksellers. 


"It  is  well  written,  artistically  built,  and. quite  above  the  average  in 
Incident  and  plot."— Evfiiny  Journal. 

T H E  "clLACIC I T T S 

op 

Inglebrook  .Hall. 

By  Mrs.  PROSSER. 


"  A  pleasant  story  of  English  country  life,  with  a  good  variety  of  char- 
acters, and  a  lively  succession  of  incidents.  It  is  in  a  neat  and  conven- 
ient form,  and  has  large  clear  print." — Tlie  Times,  N.  Y. 

v-  To  lovers  of  fiction  which  is  entertaining,  healthful,  and  improving 
to  the  taste  and  heart  alike,  we  commend  this  book.  It  is  a  Capital 
story,  amusing  enough,  and  impressing,  in  a  natural  way,  most  salutary 
lessons." — The  Congregationalist. 

"  A  story  of  domestic  life  remarkably  well  told,  all  the  characters  in  it 
being  life-like  and  readily  recognizable  in  society  everywhere." — Nno 
Jersey  Journal. 

'•  The  author  has  put  a  good  deal  of  '  human  natare '  into  all  her  char- 
acters, gentle  and  simple.  — Examiner  and  Chronicle. 

"  A  sprightly  household  tale  imbued  with  religions  sentiment."— 
Wat..iKgtOit  Chronicle. 


ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY, 
770  Broadway,  (cor.  9th  St.)  New  York. 

Sent  by  mail  free  of  erpense  on  receipt  of  price. 


.  6q.  IGmo  300  pa^es  cloth  70  as. ;  paper,  ."iOcts. 


"  A  story  full  of  pathos  and  instruction." 


OUR    TWO    LIVES; 


OR, 


GRAHAM  AND   I. 


"  This  is  a  quiet,  beautiful  story  of  married  life,  in  which  a  fond  and 
sensible  wife  recounts  the  joys  and  the  sorrows,  the  sunshine  and  the 
shadows  that  mingle  in  the  experiences  of  a  Christian  home.  It  is  told 
with  a  simplicity  and  fervor  that  every  reader  must  feel  and  adiaire  ; 
and  it  leaves  an  impression  which  cannot  fail  of  leading  to  good  re- 
solves, and,  it  may  be,  to  other  more  lasting  fruits."—  The  Churchman. 

"Very  attractive  in  outward  appearance.  This  little  volume  does 
not  disappoint  the  reader  who  looks  beyond  this.  It  reminds  one 
somewhat  of  '  Stepping  Heavenward ; '  being,  like  it,  presented  in  a 
journalistic  form.  We  commend  it  cheerfully  to  all  such  as  desire 
something  more  in  a  book  than  the  mere  story  it  contains." — Illustrat- 
ed Christian  Weekly. 

"Our  wife  and  oureelf  have  read  this  book  with  sincere  pleasure, 
and  we  hope  that  many  other  husbands  and  wives  will  speedily  have 
like  enjoyment."— Evan.  Repository. 

ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY, 
770  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 

1  vol.  square  ISmo,  $1.25.  By  mail  free  of  expense 
upon  remitting  price. 


"There  are  few  more  admirable  storiea  of  their  kind,  than 
those  written  by  Miss  Porter." — K  Y.  Times. 


UPLANDS  AND  LOWLANDS; 

OR, 

THREE  CHAPTERS  IN  A  LIFE. 

By  ROSE  PORTER, 
Author  of  "  Summer  Driftwood  for  the  Winter  Fire." 

"  Marked  by  purity  and  elevation  of  thought,  as  well  as 
by  a  cultivated  and  unusually  pleasant  style.  The  author, 
whether  uttering  her  thoughts  in  a  direct  way,  or  letting 
them  saturate  the  colloquies  and  narratives  in  which  her 
characters  figure,  when  she  chooses  the  story,  as  her 
method  of  teaching,  never  fails  to  instruct,  illumine,  and 
elevate.  This  volume  is  excellent.  It  gives  us  in  three 
parts,  the  developed  life  of  Paul  Foster  as  child,  youth, 
and  man.  And  makes  the  unfolding  life  run  over  with 
meaning,  and  carry  lessons  of  great  spiritual  value." — 
Morning  Star. 

"  There  is  a  quiet  excellence  in  all  this  author  does. 
Her  stories  are  simple  and  unaffected,  and  indicate  a 
gentle,  well  ordered  mind.  She  excels  in  the  description 
of  quiet  scenes  of  nature,  for  which  she  has  a  true  and 
delicate  appreciation." — Church  and  State. 

"  It  will  take  a  foremost  rank  in  the  class  of  stories 
to  which  it  belongs." — Dickinsonian. 

I  2mo,  cloth,  3O3  pages,       -  $1.23. 

Carriage  free,  upon  remitting  price. 

ANSOX  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  CO., 

For  Sale  by  the  Booksellers.         77O  B  road  way  >  New  York. 


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